


Everything Where it Belongs

by Jolli_Bean



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Connor, Canon Divergent but still pretty Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Has a Penis, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, North/Chloe and Markus/Josh are also in love in this one, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Hank Anderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 23:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 52,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20379661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jolli_Bean/pseuds/Jolli_Bean
Summary: Months before the android revolution comes to a tipping point, an intimacy model is delivered to Hank Anderson's house. Hank doesn't remember placing the order while he was drunk, but after he reluctantly activates the android, Connor slowly puts Hank's home and his life back together. He makes everything better.But the deviancy crisis is growing, and the android revolution along with it. Hank doesn't know how to protect Connor from what's happening in the world around them, but Connor doesn't know how to protect him, either.





	1. Hank

Hank honestly doesn't know what to do with the thing.

He has to do _something _with it, of course. The white CyberLife box, alight with stripes of blue LED, can't keep sitting in his living room like it has been for the last few days, but he can't send it back, and he doesn't want to activate it, so it's been right where the service android left it upon delivery.

The thing is, Hank doesn't even remember buying it. It doesn't surprise him that he was blackout drunk on a work night - he has been before, likely will be again - but he just doesn't buy shit when he's drunk. He does other things - passing out on the floor of the kitchen, breaking a bottle of beer and cutting himself on the glass, vomiting in the kitchen sink because his body knows better than he does when he's crossed the line and done too much damage.

Hank does plenty of stupid shit, but it's usually self-destructive. It's never sad, and it's never tinged with any kind of hope for tomorrow.

Ordering an android companionship model, like the ones Gavin fucking Reed rents down at Eden Club, as if a machine is going to make his empty home hurt less...that's sad. It's so fucking sad.

Hank tried to send it back, of course. He tried to tell the service android who delivered it that he didn't want it, but it explained that returns aren't available for intimacy models, and then it just stood there with its little tablet, staring at Hank until he signed for it.

Hank could sell it secondhand, but he'd be lucky to get half of the sizable investment back. (And looking at his bank account the following morning...that had fucking hurt.) Maybe it's petty, but Hank doesn't feel like paying thousands of dollars just to give the thing away for someone else to fuck for cheap.

Not that he wants to fuck it, either. He really doesn't. But he does get sick of the shit he sees at Eden Club crime scenes, the damage those androids sustain from rough play, because so many people are animals deep down. The androids can't feel it, don't know any better, but Hank doesn't feel like enabling people like that either way...especially not with something he emptied half his savings on.

So he can't return the thing, doesn't want it in his house but also doesn't want anyone else to have it out of pure spite, so the only remaining option has been to stare at it where it sits in his living room for days on end.

The android stands in its open box, unactivated, wearing its generic CyberLife uniform, and Hank has spent so much time looking at it that he feels like he knows most of the details of its expressionless face. It's sort of an odd face for an intimacy model, Hank has decided. It's pretty, of course - everything CyberLife makes is.

But it's a different face model than any Hank has ever seen at Eden Club, and it looks gentle, and thoughtful, and quietly intelligent, even with its eyes closed and its face unmoving.

Hank has stared at that freckled face for days, not knowing what to make of it.

It takes him a week to activate the thing, and when he finally does, it’s mostly just because he's sick of the box in the living room, and because he feels sorry for Sumo, who has to meander around it every time he wants to get to his bed.

Hank sits there looking at its face, nursing one beer and then another, before he finally gets up and looks the android over. It came with an instruction manual, but Hank only reads far enough to know he needs to open the panel at the base of the android's neck and press the button there to activate it. He isn't much interested in what else it can do - he doesn't know what he'll be doing with it, but it certainly doesn't have anything to do with its intended purpose.

So he puts the instruction manual aside, setting it with the invoice he's reviewed no fewer than twenty times to ensure he really made the purchase at all. And then Hank reaches behind the android's neck, pressing against the skin there. It's soft - softer than any person Hank has ever touched.

Hank tries not to notice that, or the way the android's designer chose to dust those freckles over its neck, either. He doesn't want to notice details about this thing, even if he did empty his savings to have it here. He doesn't want to appreciate anything about it.

Hank sighs, putting his hand on the android's neck and reaching into the port. He presses the button there, and he watches the android's eyes flutter open. They're a deep brown, warm and gentle, flecked with amber, and Hank thinks all over again that it doesn't look like an intimacy model. It looks more like something he would tell all his secrets to, or something he would even trust to watch his kid...although Hank chases that thought off quickly enough, because of course it comes with a familiar twinge of pain.

The android regards him with a slight tilt to its head. "Hello," it says. "My factory name is Connor. Would you like to choose another?"

It looks like a Connor, honestly, all earnest and trustworthy. "No. Connor is...it's fine."

Connor gives Hank another warm smile at that. "As you say. My data file indicates that your name is Hank Anderson. Is that correct?"

"Yeah."

"It's nice to meet you, Hank. Can you tell me about why you decided to purchase a companionship model at this time? I want to adjust my parameters to most effectively meet your needs."

"I, uh. I just got drunk, Connor."

Connor's brow pinches together at that. "I don't understand."

"I was drunk. I don't remember buying you." Hank doesn't know why he's telling the thing all of this, except that he doesn't have anyone else to tell, and it's been haunting him for days.

Connor tilts his head. "Do you frequently drink to the point that you don't remember the previous evening?"

Hank sighs, retreats to the kitchen and retrieves another beer from the fridge. The android stays in the living room, unmoving, watching him as he returns and slouches back on the couch.

"What?" Hank asks it finally. "That part of your setup parameters, how much I drink?"

"It helps me to know as much as I can about you."

Hank opens the beer, drinking deeply. "No," he lies. "It doesn't happen often."

"Do you know what you'd like from a companionship model?"

"I don't know," Hank says. His head aches, and he wonders if this was foolish on his part, if he should have just stuffed the thing in a closet or taken it to a recycling plant.

Connor looks him over again and then says, "Have you eaten dinner?"

No. He hasn't. Hank is better about lunch, since he's usually at the precinct at that time, than he is about dinner.

Connor takes his silence as an answer in of itself. "Perhaps I could make something for you."

"Yeah," Hank says, because he is hungry, now that he realizes it. He doesn't want an android cooking for him, but maybe that's better, less awkward, than what he expected Connor to want to do for him. "Okay."

Connor starts towards the kitchen, but he doesn't make it more than a few steps before Sumo is catching up to him, nosing under Connor's hand, which is a warmer greeting than he gives most people. Hank watches Connor's LED spin yellow, but it's just one rotation before Connor is dropping to a knee, smiling as he pets Sumo.

"You have a dog," he says, sounding pleased. "I like dogs. What's his name?"

"Uh," Hank says, the word sticking in his throat. Connor is...almost impossibly lifelike, so much so that if he removed his LED the way deviant androids do, Hank isn't sure he would know the difference.

He isn't sure how he feels about that. It unsettles him, just the smallest bit.

Connor is looking at him expectantly now, so Hank clears his throat and says, "Sumo. His name is Sumo."

"Sumo," Connor repeats, scratching both of his hands through Sumo's fur one more time.

Sumo, at least, doesn't think there's anything odd about any of this - he follows after Connor into the kitchen as if he's found a new favorite person. And honestly, Hank thinks, that would be fair - he hasn't been much fun to be around the last few years.

"Do you always put so much food down for him?" Connor asks from the kitchen.

"Yeah," Hank says. "I work odd hours." He doesn't mention that he always fills Sumo's food bowl to the brim in case he's finally happened upon the night when he can't survive himself any longer, or that it's a precautionary measure more than anything.

"He looks like he's slightly arthritic," Connor continues. "It would be in his best interest if he lost a bit of that excess weight. Now that I'm here, maybe you wouldn't have to leave so much food down."

And honestly, that's a practical enough suggestion. Hank wishes it didn't remind him that now he's responsible for Connor, too. He starts to wonder what would happen to Connor if he was gone, and then he cuts it off immediately, because he knows.

Connor would be sold like his house or any other piece of his estate, and that's a grim enough thought to be having while the android is rooting around in his kitchen for something to make for dinner, trying to make Hank's life easier, entirely oblivious to the ways Hank keeps slowly trying to destroy himself.

"Sure," Hank forces himself to say. "You can feed the dog."

"Good," Connor says. Hank listens to him search through the cabinets for a minute before he appears in the doorway again. "Hank, there's no food out here," he says. "There are a few cans of soup, but that's about it."

Hank tries to remember the last time he went grocery shopping and comes up short. "Yeah," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess that's about right."

"I would be happy to go grocery shopping for you tomorrow," Connor says. "You can authorize me to access your bank account later. Would you like me to drive you somewhere to get something to eat?"

"I...no, that's okay," Hank says. "I'm not that hungry."

Hank expects Connor to accept that, to clasp his hands behind his back and ask Hank what else he can do for him. Hank is already planning to go to bed, and he imagines that Connor will stand there, waiting, until morning...presuming he doesn't try to come to bed with him.

He absolutely doesn't expect Connor to cross the living room and take Hank's keys from the coffee table. "What are you doing?" Hank asks.

Connor looks at him with something like...god, it almost looks like disapproval.

"Hank," he says, "you should eat something, and your blood alcohol level is too high to drive. And it would be in my best interest to acquaint myself with your neighborhood so I can assist you with your errands while you're at work."

Hank really didn't expect to find the thing chiding him within fifteen minutes of being activated, and maybe it's because he's so startled by it that he gets up and pulls his coat on without any protest. "You have a breathalyzer in there but not a GPS?" he asks wryly.

"Of course I have a GPS," Connor scoffs. "But I'd like to learn your preferences...where you like to have your dry cleaning done, for instance."

Hank laughs outright at that as he follows Connor outside to his car, sliding into the passenger seat. "You're assuming I've ever had my clothes dry cleaned."

Hank almost misses it...hell, maybe he did miss it, or maybe it was just a facial tic. But he could swear Connor looked amused, just for a moment.

But it's gone so quickly that he's certain he imagined it.

When Connor asks, "Where would you like to eat?", it's with the placid smile that's been painted on his face since he stepped out of that box.

"Wherever," Hank says, settling back into his seat. "Surprise me."

It's late - Hank didn't get home from the precinct until 10 pm - so there aren't many places still open. Hank half-expects Connor to take them through a drive-through, since it's what he would do himself.

He definitely doesn't expect Connor to drive across town and pull into the lot of a diner Hank hasn't been to since before he was married. "Is this okay?" Connor asks as he puts the car in park.

"I mean...it's late,” Hank says. “We don't have to sit down somewhere, you know?"

"Oh, are you tired?" Connor asks curiously.

Hank doesn't know how to answer that. He's always tired, and he can never sleep. "No," he settles for saying. "It's just been a while since I ate at an actual restaurant."

"Because you don't want to sit alone?"

"Uh...yeah. I guess that's it." It is it. It's exactly it. Considering the gaping hole in his savings account, Hank isn't surprised that Connor has some advanced processing abilities, at least as far as glorified sex bots go, but it still strikes him just how intuitive he is.

"It will be quiet at this time of night, and I think it will be good for us to spend some time sitting together," Connor says practically. "I can learn more about you and your needs."

Hank isn't entirely convinced that a restaurant is the best place for this conversation, but Connor is already giving him that warm smile of his and getting out of the car.

Hank expects it to feel awkward. He's avoided places where he'll look pitiful if he's alone for years now, so he expects to feel uncomfortable for that reason alone.

Add to it that it's still an odd, sad thing to sit with an android like it's a friend, and Hank imagines he'll really regret not telling Connor back at the house that they could just order a pizza.

Hank doesn't know why he didn't in the first place. Connor told him they were going out, and Hank just got up and followed him without any protest at all. He doesn't entirely know what to make of that, of how real Connor seems, how persuasive he is, how Hank didn't even want him less than an hour ago and now he's letting Connor put him in situations he shouldn't even care for.

But Hank doesn't hate having dinner with him, honestly. Sure, there are a few customers looking at them, because Connor is terribly obvious in his CyberLife uniform. Anyone who pays any attention to the android models being developed knows exactly what Connor is designed for, too, his model number clearly emblazoned on his jacket. Hank should care about that.

He doesn't, though. They sit there, and Hank eats his pancakes, and Connor asks about Hank's work and the things he enjoys. He sits there and he listens attentively while Hank talks, and it's almost an hour before he proceeds to ask about what Hank needs in a companion.

It occurs to Hank after he does that Connor has easily and rather deftly eased him into a sense of comfort before trying to talk about the things Hank is more resistant to. It’s a clever tactic. Hank didn't know CyberLife's social protocols were so sophisticated, even in the most advanced models, although he supposes he hasn't spent much time around androids to know what they can do.

They talk about the groceries and about Sumo, about the cleaning Hank never does and the errands Connor is capable of running with Hank's authorization, if he needs. By the time they leave the diner, Hank is thinking that he never wanted any kind of domestic assistant android, but this also might not be the worst thing, either. At least Connor is something to talk to, and something to come home to, as sad and pitiful as that might be, being so broken down that he needs to buy robotic company these days.

When they get back to the house, Connor greets Sumo like he's lived there for years, going to the back door and letting Sumo out into the yard.

Hank hangs up his coat and steals a glance at Connor where he's leaning in the doorway, watching Sumo outside, his LED spinning a calm blue. Hank expected an android to take up space in the house in a bad way, to hover around doting on him and reminding Hank of how sad this all is.

Connor doesn't feel that way. Connor just sort of...fits.

And that's sad in its own way, Hank decides, because it's still just an illusion. Hank might not have understood how advanced androids' social protocols were these days, but Connor still isn't real.

Hank clears his throat when it starts to feel tight and says, "Hey. I'm going to go to bed, alright? I need to be back at work in the morning."

Connor looks over his shoulder at him. "Would you like me to join you?" he asks simply.

And there it is, the reminder that Connor is programmed this way, that everything about him, how easy he is to talk to and how much he wants to slot neatly into Hank's life, is all just code.

"No," Hank says. "That's okay."

Connor tilts his head, a small smile on his face. "A simple domestic assistant would have served your needs just as well if that's all you're looking for, you know."

"Well, like I said," Hank mutters, turning away, "I was drunk."

He retreats back to his bedroom, listening to Connor letting Sumo in and moving around the kitchen once he's in bed. He half-expects Connor to follow him, since the android seems to have a mind of his own.

He doesn't, and Hank doesn't know if he's grateful or not.

* * *

Hank expects Connor to have trouble understanding why Hank isn't interested in any kind of physical intimacy from him. He expects Connor to ask again if Hank wants him to come to bed with him. It's programming, after all. He's supposed to do those things.

He doesn't, though.

Hank mostly feels relief at that. They settle into a sort of quiet companionship, and as the weeks pass, one month and then two, Hank realizes they've even fallen into something like a routine. Connor takes Sumo to the dog park and texts Hank a picture of the two of them every day, and he always has dinner ready when Hank gets home from work.

It's comfortable in a way Hank hasn't been in a long while.

He still doesn't always like Connor handling so many of the domestic tasks around the house, but Hank wasn't doing them anyway, and it feels better, coming home to a place that's clean, to the smell of something fresh on the stove...to a house with someone else in it.

He doesn't like treating Connor like some kind of unpaid housekeeper, no matter how Connor insists that he doesn't mind, but Hank likes all the rest of it, how good it feels. Most of all, he likes eating with someone across the table from him again.

They mostly talk about Hank's work during that time, but Connor has started talking more about his day, too. He'll tell Hank about where he took Sumo for a walk, the other dogs at the dog park that day, the records he listened to while he cleaned or the books he read after he finished.

That's how Hank first discovers that Connor has opinions. He thinks some books are insightful and others are too on the nose. He likes some records but not others - when Hank asks him what he thinks of Knights of the Black Death, Connor sniffs almost disdainfully and says, "They have energy, I suppose."

It catches Hank so much by surprise that his laugh is fuller than it has been in years.

Hank still isn't always sure that he likes owning an android, but he likes this. He likes the way Connor disagrees with him sometimes, the way talking to Connor feels no different than talking to Ben or Jeff at the precinct. He likes the way everything feels brighter with Connor here. Sumo is losing weight; he has more energy, looks younger. And Hank is still drinking, but less. He still feels like shit sometimes, but not as much, and god, that's a good enough place to start.

Hank has started washing the dishes after dinner while Connor sits down. Connor protested at first, said that he doesn't even get tired. But Hank insisted, so that's the way their evenings go. Every now and then something dark inside him whispers that he's falling for the illusion, that he's playing house with a piece of plastic that only feels so good to have around because CyberLife programmed it that way, because he spent thousands and thousands of the dollars on the closest thing to real.

But he also tells himself it doesn't matter if this is real. It doesn't have to be real to be better, does it?

In lieu of coming to bed with him at night, Hank wonders sometimes what Connor does. He finds himself thinking about it more often as Connor's personality seems to develop, but he always tells himself he isn't going to pry, that Connor deserves the time to himself to do what he likes and that he'll tell Hank what he’s doing if he wants to.

But there's one night when Hank has a migraine, when he pads across the hallway to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. He glances out into the living room as he does, and he finds Connor sitting on the couch, bent over something, a blue light surrounding him.

"Connor?" Hank says when the light disappears, his voice thick with sleep. "Hey. What are you doing?"

The light was electronic, and Connor doesn't have anything like that himself. It was either Hank's phone, or the tablet he uses for work.

Connor raises a hand to his face before he turns - it almost looks like he's wiping tears away, but his face is clear when Hank looks at him, and he doesn't think androids cry anyway.

"Don't be mad," Connor says. "I was using your tablet."

Hank is tired, and he doesn't know what to say to the honest admission anyway. Connor has the same capabilities as any computer in his head - Hank doesn't know what he needs with the tablet at all. He probably _should _be angry, but instead he just says, "Okay...why?"

"Your birthday is coming up, but I already checked your browsing history on our home network and didn't find any ideas for a present. I was just trying to see if there was anything in your history from work."

"Oh," Hank says lamely. "I mean...you don't have to get me anything. It's all my money anyway."

He means it in a practical way - he's just trying to point out that it would be like buying himself a gift, which he never does. But his head is cloudy, and it comes out all wrong.

He doesn't like the way Connor's face falls at that. "You're right," Connor says. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's...you don't have to be sorry, Con. I just don't really need anything, you know? Maybe we can go somewhere nice instead."

"Sure," Connor says quietly.

Hank can't even begin to explain how much of an asshole he feels like. He doesn't want to have to say the rest of it, but he needs to. "Listen...there's confidential shit on that tablet. You didn't look through anything, did you?"

"No," Connor says quickly. "Of course not."

Hank believes him. He really does. He still walks around the couch and picks the tablet up, taking it back to his room with him. It's just easier that way, he tells himself. Shit is weird right now, and deviancy cases are on the rise.

He mostly just doesn't want Connor to see something that will upset him.

Hank has spent other nights wishing Connor slept in his bed. Not to do anything about it, but just because he hates being alone so badly, because he thinks it would be nice to fall asleep listening to someone else breathing again.

Tonight is the first time he wishes Connor was there for Connor's sake, because Hank fucked up, because he's shit with words but he could at least hold him through the night and try to tell him they're still okay that way.

He wonders if Connor even wants that, though, and of course he doesn't, not really. It's all just programming and code, zeros and ones.

For the first time since Connor arrived, Hank feels that old loneliness, that deep ache, sinking in. He doesn't sleep at all.

* * *

Hank spends the next day feeling like shit.

It starts in the morning - Connor sits with him while he eats breakfast, but he’s quiet. Hank asks him if he’s okay, but Connor just gives him a dim smile and says, “Yes, Hank.”

“Listen,” Hank tries, “about last night...”

“It’s okay,” Connor says. “I should have asked you if gifts were acceptable. It was my mistake.”

It sounds so scripted, not like Connor usually does at all, but Hank is already going to be late for work. “Okay,” he says. “You know we’re okay, right? I’m not upset.”

“Of course,” Connor says. “Have a good day at work. I’ll see you later.”

Things don’t feel okay, but Hank leaves anyway. There’s not much else he can do.

Things get worse from there. Stress has been high at the precinct for the last month now - there are more deviants reported missing every day, some who just ran off, some associated with violent crimes against their owners. It’s been weeks since they found any of them.

“It’s like they’re going underground somewhere,” Chris says to Hank.

“Yeah,” Hank agrees, “it is.”

That means that deviancy isn’t just spreading, but the deviant androids are organizing somehow, working together. To what end, Hank doesn’t know.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and Hank opens to message to see the usual picture of Connor and Sumo at the dog park. Connor looks a little bit brighter, his smile warm as he sits beside Sumo in the grass, an arm wrapped around the dog.

Hank wishes he could say why the photo makes tears prick his eyes so badly that he has to get up and retreat to the bathroom and collect himself.

“You two are cute,” he finally types back, and something twists hard in his gut when he does. “Hope you’re having a good day, Con.”

Hank wonders if Connor has days that feel better than others, or if he perceives them all as the same.

Hank’s day gets worse. Jeff tries to look out for him, make it such that any other detective takes cases with child victims before Hank does, but sometimes there’s no one available. Hank goes down to the hospital, and he talks to the little boy with the badly bruised face about what happened when the family’s housekeeper android attacked him that morning.

He thinks of Cole, like he always does, how Cole made it to the hospital, into surgery but not out of it. How the autonomous truck that crashed into them was faulty, prioritized its own trailer and the company’s investment over Hank and Cole’s life.

He thinks about how he didn’t want Connor looking at his tablet because there are photos of damaged deviant androids on it, but also because something dark in him worried that seeing other deviants that way will spark something in Connor, too.

He thinks about how it’s Connor’s programming keeping him with Hank, how he worries Connor would leave too, if he could, because that’s Hank’s truest lot in life, being alone.

He doesn’t mean to end up at Jimmy’s. He doesn’t mean to drink so much.

But that’s always the way these nights go when Hank only has one balm to soothe everything that aches, so he does anyway.

He drinks until it hurts less, until he’s numb as shit and the pain has receded a bit, even if he’s always aware of how much he hates himself. He loses track of time, of how long his world has been spinning. He had the presence of mind to tell Connor he would be late, but he still thinks of Connor sitting at home, worried, and then he thinks of Connor not caring at all, of Connor shifting his focus and priorities to another owner if Hank should finally do himself in.

He orders another, even if he knows Jimmy is going to cut him off soon, and the door opens across the bar.

“Hey!” someone yells. “Can’t you fucking read? No androids.”

Hank looks up at the commotion, but Connor is already beside him, laying a hand on Hank’s shoulder.

“Hank,” he says softly. “Come on.”

Hank tries to tell Connor to go home even if his words come out slurred, to push him away, but Connor ducks around him easily and grasps him by the wrist, hauling Hank’s arm around his shoulders.

“Come on,” he says again, wrapping an arm around Hank and helping him out to Hank’s car. He’s warm and solid and Hank is impossibly torn between wanting to push him away and wanting to sink in to him.

“How’d you know where I was?” he slurs once Connor has him in the passenger seat.

“You told me you drink here sometimes, remember?”

“I told you I was going to be at the precinct late.”

Connor fixes him with a stern glance. “Your phone alerts me when you leave the precinct so I can have dinner ready on time.”

Hank gapes at him. “I don’t remember authorizing that.”

“Of course you did,” Connor says.

Hank opens his mouth again, but before he can talk, Connor adds, “You’ve had too much to drink and you aren’t thinking clearly. Just relax, okay?”

Hank wants to argue, but he just doesn’t have it in him.

Sumo is at the door when they get home, nosing at Hank worriedly until Connor sends him outside. Connor retrieves a bottle of water and a pot while he’s in the kitchen, setting them in front of Hank. “You’re going to be sick,” he says.

Hank sags against the back of the couch. “I’m fine.”

He isn’t fine. Fifteen minutes later, he’s grateful he didn’t eat anything for dinner and that there’s not much in his stomach to come back up. He heaves into the pan, and he tries to apologize when Connor takes it from him to clean.

He hates this part of the night. The numbness is never worth how pitiful he is like this, but he can never seem to remember that. It’s worse now, though...nobody has ever seen him like this before. Hank is used to hating himself, but the shame heating the back of his neck is entirely new.

Hank listens to the sink running in the kitchen, head lolling against the couch. He hears the back door open and Sumo’s claws clicking on the linoleum, and then feels the couch sinking under Connor’s weight beside him again.

“A cool bath might help you feel better,” Connor offers.

“It’s fine,” Hank groans. “I just need to go to bed. I’ll be better in the morning.”

Connor is quiet a moment, and then he softly asks, “How often of you do this?”

He sounds disappointed. He sounds _hurt _, and Hank knows his programming is advanced, knows he isn’t thinking straight, but he just can’t see, at least in this moment, how this isn’t real.

“I don’t know,” Hank answers truthfully. He _doesn’t _know. He can’t begin to say how many nights he’s spent at Jimmy’s. “I’ve been better lately. Since you got here.”

Hank feels Connor’s fingers in his hair, gently rubbing over his scalp. “I wish you didn’t hurt so much,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Hank says, throat tight. “Me too.”

Connor reaches for his hand, grasping it and kissing his knuckles. “Then let me help.”

Hank closes his eyes, squeezes them shut to stop the tears from coming. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and he squeezes Connor's hand.

"Okay," he says softly. "Okay."

Connor returns Hank's hand to his lap and grasps his arm. "Okay," he agrees. "I'll be right back."

Connor gets up, and Hank manages to swallow down that needy part of himself that wants to hold him at his side, keeping his hands to himself as Connor retreats down the hallway. Hank hears the water running in the bathroom, and he closes his eyes, drifts as he listens to it.

He's half-asleep when Connor shakes his shoulder again. "Come on," he says gently, helping Hank to stand.

The good thing about being so drunk in this moment, the only good thing, is that Hank's head is too cloudy for him to think much of letting Connor help him out of his clothes and into the tub.

And the bath does help. It's not making him any less drunk, of course, but the water is perfectly lukewarm, cool enough that it invigorates his dull mind but not enough to be uncomfortable. Hank sinks into it, lying against the back of the tub, and Connor kneels on the floor behind him, running his fingers idly through Hank's hair.

"I could wash this for you, if you like," Connor says softly.

Hank almost doesn't hear him - he's too busy trying to figure out how Connor knows exactly how hard to close his fingers in his hair for it to feel good, just enough pressure to reduce the throbbing in his head.

"It's okay," Hank says when the offer finally registers with him. "I'll take a shower tomorrow morning."

Hank's eyes are closed, but he can plainly see the wry, upward lift to Connor's mouth when he says, "You know you'll feel like shit tomorrow morning."

Despite himself, Hank smiles too, opening his eyes and twisting enough to look at Connor. "I've never heard you swear before."

"My social protocols indicate it isn't polite, but no one told _you _that."

That startles another laugh out of Hank, and his mind is so slow that it can't even make sense of all this, how he can feel so much like shit and still feel so good. It's cognitive dissonance, all of this at once.

Connor tightens his fingers in his hair again. "Hank," he says. He doesn't need to say anything else.

"Yeah," Hank agrees. "Okay."

Hank keeps expecting the shame to set in - because this is really fucking ridiculous at the root of it, isn't it? He's almost fifty-three years old and so sad that he can't bear it sober, being taken care of by an android he spent thousands of dollars on all because he couldn't take being alone anymore.

But it just doesn't come. Connor is too gentle, too careful and too genuine, and sure, that's all programming, but does it matter if neither of them can tell the difference? Hank can't feel like shit when this comes so easy, when that light brush of Connor's lips against his temple as he finishes rinsing Hank's hair doesn't feel at all like playing house with a piece of plastic.

"I'll get you some clothes to sleep in," Connor says softly when he's done, getting to his feet. Completely deadpan, he adds, "Don't drown."

Hank has read all about how androids' social programming allows them to adapt to their owners' personalities, but be that as it may, he's still never met an android with a sense of humor like Connor's. He's unique, different somehow, and Hank feels a swell of affection at the same time he feels that fear setting in that if Connor were truly deviant, he wouldn't stay.

Hank pushes the thought aside the same way he always does as he gets dressed and follows Connor to the bedroom, but maybe it's still lingering in the recesses of his mind as he sits on the edge of the bed. Maybe it's the fear that this one good thing is going to go to shit somehow that makes Hank reach for Connor, that has Hank catching him by the wrist and saying, "What if I wanted you to stay?"

Connor brushes a damp piece of hair from Hank's forehead. "Then I would stay."

Hank shouldn't ask, because he isn't sure he wants to know the answer, but he still can't stop himself from saying, "But what do you want?"

Connor sighs the way he does when he thinks Hank is being obtuse. He rounds the bed, and Hank thinks he's fucked up again as Connor turns off the lights, that Connor is leaving and Hank can’t even blame him. He sighs, shifting and trying to make himself comfortable despite his throbbing head, until the mattress shifts beside him and he feels Connor at his back.

"I want you to be okay," Connor whispers against Hank's skin before he kisses the curve of his shoulder. Hank didn't hear Connor remove his shirt, but his skin is cool at Hank's back.

Connor wraps an arm around him, settling his hand over Hank's heart. "Go to sleep, okay?" he whispers, and in the end, Hank is too wrung out, too exhausted by everything he always puts himself through, to do much else.

* * *

It's Hank's breath that wakes him up in the morning more than anything. Usually it's his head throbbing or his stomach sickly churning, so it’s a slight improvement, and he supposes he should be grateful to feel slightly less like shit.

He sits up on the edge of the bed a moment, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and trying to gather his wits. Last night is fuzzy, but at least he didn't black out and buy himself another companionship android.

Hank glances over his shoulder then, finding that Connor is still there, lying on his back on the other side of the bed, his arm thrown over his eyes. He looks just a bit disheveled in a terribly human way, and Hank's heart seizes at the sight.

It's been two months since that night in July when Hank emptied his savings account just to pretend he wasn't alone, but Hank realizes all at once that he's never seen Connor asleep. He's never even seen him without his CyberLife uniform, although he's certainly spent plenty of time wondering if those freckles are elsewhere. He's never seen Connor still or vulnerable or even entirely at ease, not when he always holds himself so upright, and Hank finds now that it's beautiful and arresting but also difficult to look at head on. It's a bit like staring at the sun for too long, because Connor is something bright and otherworldly, something that doesn't really belong here with him.

Hank pushes himself to his feet, joints aching, and he goes across the hall to brush his teeth. Sumo is waiting in the hallway for him, whining a bit. Connor is usually the one who lets him out, but Hank does instead. He checks the cupboards while he waits - Connor usually makes him breakfast before work, but there are granola bars, and Hank figures he owes him.

Connor is still asleep when Hank returns to the bedroom, so Hank sits on the edge of the bed and lays a hand over Connor's thirium pump, feeling it thrum under skin that's impossibly soft.

Connor's LED spins yellow once, and then he moves his arm from his eyes, looking at Hank.

"Hi," he says, his voice endearingly rough with sleep. "I set a timer to come out of stasis, but I didn't think you would be up for a little bit yet."

"It's okay," Hank says quickly. "I'll just take a granola bar to work."

Connor stretches - Hank wonders if it feels good for him to do that, or if it's just a programmed behavior to make him appear more human - and then he sits up, reaching for the uniform shirt he neatly folded and set on the bedside table last night.

"How are you feeling?" Connor asks while he slips his arms into the sleeves and fastens the buttons.

"I'm okay. Last night, Con...you shouldn't have had to do any of that."

Connor reaches for his tie with a long-suffering sigh. "I wanted to. I told you I did."

"I know, it's just..." Hank stops, looking away. _It's just that you don't really want anything _, he was going to say, and Connor seems to know it anyway.

Connor gets up, going to the mirror and straightening his hair, even if it's barely messed up at all.

"Do you want to know how I see things, Hank?" he asks while he does.

Hank isn't sure he does, honestly, but knowing Connor, he'll tell him anyway.

And he does. Connor barely gives Hank the chance to answer before he turns, leaning back against Hank's dresser. "You can either treat me like I'm a person or like I'm not, but this, the way you pick and choose...I don't care for it. Either you believe me when I tell you what I want, or you stop doing the dishes for me, you stop asking my opinions about things, and you let me do what you bought me to do. I'll be your domestic assistant android if you want me to be, and I'll take up space in your house so you feel less alone, but you're giving me whiplash this way."

Hank has heard Connor speak frankly before, but not like this. He's stunned enough by it to say something stupid. "This," he says, gesturing between the two of them, "this isn't real, Con."

The hard look Connor gives him is entirely foreign, not one Hank has seen anywhere near his kind features before. "How am I any less real than you, Hank?" he asks, taking a step towards him. "What happens in your brain, the way you react to your experiences...that's all just a different type of programming. And I think you know that."

"Connor," Hank starts, but Connor closes the distance between them and kisses him, his hands warm on Hank's face.

"Treat me like I know what I want," Connor whispers against his mouth, "or let me do the fucking dishes. Your choice, Hank."

There's a sort of irony in this, Hank thinks, in the android he bought and paid for, who isn't supposed to have any autonomy at all, telling him this is his choice, presenting it to him like a gift when in fact Hank is always the one with the choice, the only one. That's the whole problem.

But Hank has always been weak for anything that can make him hurt less, even if it's just a brief respite. It's why he drinks so much even when he knows he comes down so hard, why he occasionally spins the chamber of his gun with only one bullet loaded. It's not even the promise that he might finally end everything that really appeals to him, but the hope that comes when there's nothing but an empty click, like it's some kind of sign that there's a reason to keep going. It's never long before things fall apart again, but he doesn't know where else to find his hope anymore.

This feels the same. Connor's too soft hands on his face, Connor's mouth on his, it feels like a distraction, like a balm on an ache that's too deep to heal but can maybe hurt less, just for a bit.

Hank has his vices, and maybe this is another one, especially when Connor feels better than anything else ever has, when Connor feels so warm and alive in his arms, when his eyes are so convincingly alight with humor that Hank can't tell the difference between the two of them.

And Connor must see it on his face, because he kisses Hank again, more insistently this time, slipping his tongue into Hank's mouth when he parts his lips against him. Hank pulls him in, fisting his hands in Connor's hair, his shirt. Connor hums in approval, nipping at Hank's lower lip.

"That's what I thought," he says, sounding pleased. There's a teasing note in his voice, and Hank doesn't know how he ended up with an android with such a mouth on him. Hank traces a thumb over Connor's lip, trying not to shudder too obviously when Connor darts his tongue out to taste his skin.

"You're going to be late for..." Connor starts, but Hank kisses him again to shut him up before he can finish the thought. That's a useful trick, if nothing else.

Connor is more responsible than Hank is, though. Hank has him backed against the dresser, kissing him like a man starved, thinking about how he doesn't want to go to work, how he just wants to get Connor in bed, wondering if he can possibly call in sick yet again without being fired when Connor pulls away from him, neatly slipping out of his arms and turning around to face the mirror above the dresser.

"You're going to be late," he says again, primly fixing his hair and tucking his shirt back in where Hank pulled it loose.

Hank tries to make himself care that Jeff told him he was out of chances after giving him way too many, that he's liable to lose his job if he doesn't extricate himself from the magnetic pull Connor has on him. He watches Connor straighten his tie like it's the most enthralling thing someone could be doing until Connor meets his eyes in the mirror with a small smile.

"Hank."

"Yeah, okay," Hank says. That doesn't stop him from winding an arm around Connor's waist once, pulling Connor back against him and kissing the line of his neck. "You know you have a freckle in your ear?" he asks against him.

Connor raises a hand to touch his ear. "Now I do," he says, smiling as he gently elbows Hank away from him so he can pull on his jacket.

"You know, I hate that uniform.”

“Do you?” Connor asks. "I could get other clothes, if you wanted me to. I'd like that."

Hank follows Connor out of the bedroom, gaping after him. "You've never said anything about it."

Connor doesn't look at him as he measures Sumo's breakfast. "You've never said you hate it."

"I mean...yeah. I do." But the more interesting thing to Hank is that it seems like Connor does, too. "You can go shopping today, if you want."

"Okay." Connor smiles, crossing the room and pressing a quick kiss to Hank's lips. "Go to work. We can talk about the rest of this when you get home."

Hank doesn't remember the last time he wanted to touch someone so badly, to make himself familiar with every last detail the way he does now. He settles for pushing a hand through Connor's hair and kissing his forehead. "I'll see you later," he says, the way he does every morning, and Connor nods.

"Have a good day, Hank."

* * *

The work day passes slowly. Hank sits at his desk, staring at the files for the new deviant cases that came in within the last few days, and he wonders whether Jeff would believe him if he said he had a stomach virus.

Not fucking likely considering the shit Hank has pulled over the last couple years, but he's thinking seriously about trying it anyway when his phone vibrates on his desk. Connor is the only person who ever texts him during the work day, and he already sent the picture of him and Sumo at the dog park that's become tradition, so Hank picks it up, curious.

"I think I found a birthday present for you," Connor wrote. "If you're interested."

Hank has honestly forgotten that his birthday is the following week. "Yeah? What's that?" he writes back. He figures it's a book or something Connor has found, and he's ready to tell him to get whatever he wants. It was stupid, telling Connor it was all his money two nights ago, fixating on how he never bought himself anything instead of realizing that it was something that felt important to Connor. It's not about the gift.

Hank has his phone sitting unlocked on his desk, open to their conversation, but he grabs for it, nearly banging his knee on the desk when the picture comes through.

The image is cropped, but it's Connor's shoulder, definitely - the freckles are unmistakable. There's a thin strap running over it, a bit of blue, floral lace over his chest before the picture cuts off. Hank can only see Connor's mouth, but he's biting his fucking lip, and Hank thinks he's going to die right here, in the middle of the DPD, without a single bottle of alcohol in sight.

What a surprise that is. What a way to go.

"Holy fuck, baby," he types back.

"Oh, am I 'baby' now?" Connor replies. "I didn't realize. :)"

It's unnerving, texting Connor. He answers everything immediately, so Hank always feels like he's taking forever, even when his brain is working properly, even when Connor isn't even teasing him.

"You can be whatever you want if you're going to wear that," he finally writes back.

"Is that a yes, Hank? I need your authorization for all purchases."

He does, but Hank already gave it to him when he told him to go buy some clothes. This is just Connor having fun, and Hank would find it so incredibly endearing if it wasn't also such torture.

"You know you don't stand in the grocery store and send me pictures of each thing you're going to buy, Con."

His phone vibrates immediately, and Hank looks down to see, "I don't think you find frozen vegetables this interesting. Yes or no, Hank?"

He's actually going to make him say it. Hank looks at the clock, wondering how he possibly has another five hours at work, and then types, "Yes. Of course it's a yes."

"Thank you for your authorization :)," Connor writes back, and Hank honestly doesn't know how Connor hasn't killed him yet.

"Hey, Con?" Hank types before he can stop himself. "You look really good."

It's too genuine, probably, given the teasing nature of the game Connor's playing, but he means it, and for all his other faults, Hank tries to say the things he means.

Connor sends back a smiley face, and then says, "I'll see you when you get home, Hank"

Hank is slipping his phone into his pocket when someone appears at his side. "The fuck you smiling about?" Reed asks, leaning against Hank's desk like they're friends, or like he doesn't give a shit that they aren't. "Come on, got an apartment we need to check out. It's supposed to be abandoned but the building manager says a kid who sort of matches the description of one of CyberLife's face models has been around a few times."

Hank raises an eyebrow. "Sort of matching?"

Reed shrugs. "All of CyberLife's shit is sort of nondescript in that pretty way that makes it hard to say, you know?"

Hank thinks one last time about storming into Jeff's office and faking a stomach bug before he gets up, pulling his coat on. "You're driving."

"Why? You hungover again?"

Hank gives him a hard look, and Reed rolls his eyes but does go to get his keys from his desk.

The apartment is an absolute goddamn mess. It's filled with pigeons and the bird shit that comes with them, but there's no other food in the fridge. Hank checks the bathroom and finds the LED on the sink. "Did the manager say if this kid's around often?" Hank calls out to Reed.

"I mean, it has to be, right? It's a machine with the same face models as thousands of others in Detroit. It can't just be walking around on the street."

Hank picks up the LED and pockets it. He starts back into the living area to join Reed, but there's noise on the other side of the door, a key turning in the lock.

Hank glances at Reed and gives him a warning look when he sees him pulling his gun.

"Don't do something stupid," he's trying to say, because Reed is one of the stupidest, most trigger-happy colleagues he's ever worked with.

It doesn't matter - Reed never listens.

Hank gets a hand on his gun too as the door opens.

He recognizes two of the face models - couldn't say their model numbers even after staring at case files for months, but it's the blonde male housekeeper model CyberLife phased out months ago and one of the female Eden Club models. The kid they're looking for, the agricultural model, is with them.

The androids stop, looking at them, and that moment stretches on between them.

And then Reed fucking shoots.

He hits the kid in the shoulder, and Hank watches him fall, the thirium flooding over the front of his shirt. His jaw goes slack, and he looks down at himself in the same sort of stunned way most people do when they realize they've been shot.

"Get down!" Reed is yelling, firing another shot. "Get the fuck down!"

The housekeeper android has a gun, too, and as he and the woman turn and run, he fires wildly into the room. He doesn't know how to use it, it's clear - most of his shots hit nothing at all, just marks in the wall.

But one of them hits Hank's shoulder, and he feels it like a dull ache slowly blooming.

Gavin doesn't realize he's been hit - he's already off, tearing after the two androids as if he's possibly going to catch them, leaving Hank standing in the room, pressing a hand to his shoulder as it bleeds, watching the fear on that kid's face as he shuts down.

And Hank can't really say why he goes to him, why he presses a hand to the android's shoulder when he knows thirium leaks can't be stopped with pressure, but he does.

"It's okay," Hank says, when of course it isn't. "You're okay."

The kid stares up at him, mouth gaping wordlessly.

Hank has seen people die before. His parents, a few victims when he was first on the scene. He's seen the light in someone's eyes fade before, but he doesn't expect to see it here.

Hank slumps back against the wall, fishing his phone out of his pocket. He doesn't think the bullet to his shoulder is bad, but gunshots are tricky, and even the ones that kill don't always start out feeling like much. His thumb shakes as he calls for an ambulance.

He texts Connor next. He figures his voice will betray him if he calls, and he wants to know how bad things are first. He had to tell his wife he had been shot once, and it's so much less painful for the other person if they can hear, "The doctor says it's fine," at the same time.

"Hey," he types to Connor one-handed. His left arm fucking hurts. "I'm sorry, I'm going to be late. I'm not sure how long."

"Is everything okay?" Connor asks immediately.

"Yeah. Something just came up, baby."

Hank has never seen a text bubble where Connor is typing before. He usually replies too quickly for it to even show up.

Hank sees it now, though, appearing, disappearing.

"Okay," Connor finally says, and maybe it's a stupid thing to fixate on in that moment, but Hank is certain it wasn't what he was originally going to say.

"Are you okay?" Hank asks. Maybe something happened while he was out.

"I'm okay," Connor says, and it's immediate this time.

Hank hears the sirens in the distance and types, "I need to go, okay? Sorry...I'll see you when I get home."

The text bubble appears again while Hank stares at the conversation. When Connor responds a moment later, it's to say, "Let me know if you need anything, Hank."

Hank spends the next few minutes, until the paramedics arrive, wondering if there's any way Connor can possibly know he's lying.

And he doesn’t think so. He really doesn’t think so. He knows about the setting on his phone, the one that pings Connor when he’s leaving the precinct, but that wouldn’t tell him anything else.

Hank is just wondering if Connor watches him through his phone somehow, paranoid as that is, when Connor texts again. “Fish or steak for dinner?” he asks, and it’s such a normal question that Hank is suddenly sure he’s delusional.

“Surprise me,” he says, smiling. It’s stupid that Connor asking him something so innocuous can feel so comforting, but here they are.

“Steak is faster,” Connor says. There’s another pause, and then he adds, “I miss you.”

Hank can’t tell if it’s an odd thing for Connor to say or not. He never has before, but they are in uncharted water with their relationship.

“I miss you too, Con,” he finally writes back, because it’s true.

He can hear the paramedics on the stairs, so he slides his phone back into his pocket.

An hour later, Hank sits in a hospital bed and listens to the doctor tell him the damage could have been much worse, and he tried to feel lucky as his arm throbs. No bone damage, though, no major muscle involvement, no need for surgery...just stitches. Hank sits there listening to it and tries not to think so hard about how he just wants to get to his phone.

Jeff shows up to check on him, with Reed at his side.

“You catch them?” Hank asks, although he isn’t surprised when Reed shakes his head. He’s sure Reed has told Jeff a different story than the one that really happened, the one where they probably could have collared the androids if he hadn’t been so quick to fire, where Hank probably wouldn’t have been shot.

Hank will correct the narrative later, but for now, he just says, “I’m fine. It’s no big deal.”

He waits until they leave to call Connor. “Hey,” he says. “Don’t freak out, but can you come down to the hospital?”

“What happened?” Connor asks.

When Hank told Jen he was hurt, she cried immediately, panicking the way so many people do, but Connor just gets quiet, even after he’s done explaining it.

“Con?” he finally says.

“I’ll be right there. I’m glad you’re okay.”

And he is quick. The hospital is on the other side of town from Hank’s house, but Connor is still walking into his room less than twenty minutes later. He’s wearing his android uniform, and Hank almost asks why he isn’t wearing any of his new clothes when he remembers that androids can only wear plainclothes if they’re accompanied by their owners. Otherwise, they need to be clearly identified.

Hank feels worse about that than he does about the shot to his arm.

“Hey,” Hank starts to say, but Connor just pulls the curtain around Hank’s bed and seats himself on the edge of the mattress, pressing into him and kissing him fiercely. Hank is startled by it at first, by how aggressive and desperate it is, but he tangles a hand in Connor’s hair and kisses him back.

Hank pulls Connor against him when they part, pressing his forehead to his. “I’m okay,” he promises at the same time Connor whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Hank asks. “Why?”

Connor shrugs, LED spinning yellow. “For coming in here like that.”

And that’s when Hank realizes that Connor is off script, maybe off his programming all together, that he isn’t used to being afraid and doesn’t know how to react to feeling it.

And that scares Hank too, because he’s seen what happens when that’s the case far too many times, and he knows now what androids look like when they die.

He can’t think about that now, though. He pushes his fingers through Connor’s hair, trying to reassure him. “It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t mind.”

Connor is opening his mouth to say something, but there are footsteps outside the door, so instead he neatly slips from the bed and pushes the curtain open.

And it's odd, watching Connor stand there with a placid expression on his face, his hands clasped behind his back while the doctor reviews Hank's discharge instructions. If there's any bright spot in this, it's that the wound wasn't bad enough to merit a longer stay.

Hank has grown so accustomed to how vibrant Connor is, to the way he pushes back, that seeing him so still and passive while the doctor talks is difficult. Hank should have seen it sooner. He doesn't know why he didn't see it sooner, except that maybe he was standing too close, looking too carefully at the details, to see the entire picture where Connor is concerned.

Hank barely listens to the doctor, but he still says he doesn't have any questions when she asks. He wants to go home, and he figures Connor has all of it memorized anyway.

"There's a cab waiting outside," Connor says when she's gone. "Do you want to get your car from the precinct tonight?"

"That's okay," Hank says. "Jeff or Reed or someone will run it home tomorrow. Reed owes me anyway." He shifts to sit on the edge of the bed, wincing with the movement. "Can you pass me my clothes? I'll just be a minute, and then we can go."

Hank intends to change in the bathroom, to figure it out himself even if he knows it's going to be difficult to pull his shirt on over his head with the way his shoulder is aching. But Connor follows him anyway, and when Hank raises an eyebrow at him, he just says, "Hank. It's nothing I haven't seen before."

And Connor does help, but it's the same sort of help he always gives, the sort where he somehow manages to torture Hank at the same time. Soft fingers over Hank's skin, the press of his lips at the back of Hank's neck before he helps Hank into his shirt, warm eyes intent on him when Hank catches his gaze in the mirror.

Hank should be too old for this, or at least too hurt for it, but he turns around presses Connor back into the wall, relishing the little, surprised noise he makes before Hank kisses him and swallows it. He can't remember the last time he had this much trouble keeping his hands off someone, but he thought of Connor when he got shot, when the android died in the apartment...he's thought of little else since Connor slotted so neatly into his life.

And Connor pushes back, because he always does, winding his arms around Hank's neck and tangling his fingers in his hair when he arches into him and opens his mouth against Hank's.

Connor holds him like he's trying to keep him, and Hank understands that all too well, because he might be the one who got shot tonight, but androids experiencing errors in their programming are required to report those errors to CyberLife. They run if they're lucky, if they can break free of their code enough to leave their homes, but they're collected by CyberLife otherwise, examined and fixed if they can be, recycled and replaced if they can't.

Connor is thinking about Hank getting hurt, but Hank is thinking of losing him.

When they part, when they're both panting for air even if Connor doesn't need it, Connor's mouth lifts into a teasing smile. "The hospital bathroom, Hank? Really?"

There's a lilt to his voice, but it doesn't entirely chase away the worry on his face.

Hank can still see that very clearly, and it claws at him as he puts a hand on the back of his head, pulling him in and kissing his forehead.

"You're right," he says softly. "Let's go home."

The cab is autonomous, like most are these days, which is good. Hank might not care for autonomous vehicles after the accident, but he's glad for the privacy. Connor sits close to him on the bench seat, holding his hand, the length of his leg pressed against Hank's. Hank steals a glance at him every now and then, although he can't do much without Connor noticing. Connor always gives him a calm, comforting smile when he does, but Hank also doesn't miss the reflection of his LED in the window, spinning yellow almost the entire way home.

"Con," Hank finally says, nudging Connor with his elbow. "Your light, baby. You okay?"

"Yes," Connor says quickly. "I was just worried about you. I didn't like it."

That wasn't _just _it, though. That visceral reaction was something other than programming, and Hank thinks that's actually what's troubling him - not the fear itself, but the fact that he felt it at all. He squeezes Connor's hand, and Connor sighs, leaning his cheek against Hank's shoulder.

They don't talk about it again until they're home, although Hank barely waits until Connor has helped him out of his coat to say, "There are errors in your programming, aren't there?"

Hank expects Connor to freeze, for fear to flood his face, for him to maybe deny it. He doesn't expect Connor to turn to him and calmly say, "If there were...what would you do?"

It surprises Hank for Connor to turn this around on him, but he recovers quickly, shaking his head. "It's not about me."

Connor tilts his head, studying him. "I'm supposed to report all errors to CyberLife."

Hank knows that's true, but hearing it makes something clench in his gut. Connor raises his chin, looking him over. "I'm your android. Is that what you want me to do?"

Hank gets it then, that maybe there's a way around this, at least for right now. "No," he says, and it's an easy answer. "No, that's not what I want you to do."

"Even after what happened today, with those other deviants?"

Connor is pressing him, like he thinks it should make a difference, but Hank just shrugs. "Yeah, I mean...that wasn't you."

"What if I hurt you? What if the errors are too much, and I snap, and I hurt you?" There's a pinched expression on Connor's face even if he's speaking evenly, and a hard look in his eye, the same one he gets when he's cornering Hank into answering him.

Hank's own face softens, though, and he closes the distance between the two of them, putting a hand on the back of Connor's head and wrapping his arms around him. Connor goes willingly, sagging into him, and Hank can feel how tense he was as he relaxes against him.

"You won't," Hank says into his hair. "I know shit is scary right now, but we'll figure it out, okay? I've got you. Just...don't report it."

The truth is, Hank doesn't think he knows how to live without Connor anymore, regardless of what he is He doesn't know how to say that, not yet, but it's true.

"Okay," Connor whispers, and Hank can see the tears in his dark lashes when Connor leans up to kiss him.

"Okay," Hank says, relieved. "Come on. Let's go to bed."

"I'll be right there," Connor says. "I need to let Sumo out."

Hank squeezes the back of Connor's neck and kisses his hair one more time before he lets him go, retreating back the hallway to the bedroom.

His bed is neatly made, the way Connor always leaves it, the room mostly put together except for the few shopping bags Connor left on the floor. It doesn't feel like just that morning that Hank told him to buy some things for himself, but things are moving fast these days.

Curious, he peeks inside. They're mostly things he would expect Connor to buy for himself - slim, dark jeans and tailored shirts, although the colorful patterns on some of them do surprise Hank, if only because they're a more stylish version of something he would wear.

Hank looks at the other closet. He's never used it for much - he never even opens it. It's mostly just where he keeps the things he doesn't want to see but can't get rid of - a few of Cole's old toys, some of Jen's shit that she didn't take with her and didn't want back, old photo albums with pictures of their family that Hank doesn't even recognize himself in, if only because his smiling face doesn't look like his own anymore.

Maybe it's time to empty it out. Hank will never know how to part with any of those things, but maybe he and Connor can put them in storage so Connor can use the closet. It's a nice thought, Connor having something in the house that's his.

Hank looks up when the door opens to see Connor smiling, even if he's trying to give Hank a reproving look. "You're not supposed to look until I show you," he whines. He's wiped his tears away, replaced them with the playful lift to his mouth that Hank is starting to love so much.

"Sorry," Hank says. He nods towards the spare closet. "That can be yours, if you want."

Hank wonders if Connor knows what's in the closet. He has to, he figures - Connor is curious, and alone in the house most days, and Hank never told him not to look inside. He's never talked about Cole or Jen, but he figures he and Connor have a sort of understanding there anyway.

If Connor knows the weight of what they’re discussing, he doesn't mention it. Instead, he crosses the room and climbs into Hank's lap, kissing him and humming when Hank brings his arms up around his waist. "I'd like that," he says, kissing the corner of Hank's mouth.

"Connor," Hank says when Connor ducks his head to Hank's neck, alternating between peppering kisses there and nipping at his skin. "Are you happy here?"

Connor sighs, leaning his forehead against Hank's and putting his hands on his neck. "Yes," he breathes.

"Would you tell me if you weren't?"

"Hank," Connor says, "I like being with you." He unbuttons the top button of Hank's shirt, running his fingers across the line of his clavicle. "Does your shoulder hurt too much?"

Too much for what, Hank doesn't have to ask, not with the low note in Connor's voice.

"It's okay," Hank says, quickly and desperately enough that Connor smiles as he works a few more of Hank's buttons undone.

"I'll be gentle," he promises against Hank's lips before he kisses him again.

Hank has thought about this plenty today alone, but before it too, in the shower and sometimes on nights when he hasn't been able to sleep. And it always goes the same way, him leading Connor through it, him being the one to take care of him.

In retrospect, that was foolish of him, maybe, especially after the way Connor forced his hand that morning and so easily maneuvered Hank into exactly what he wanted. Foolish to think Connor has it in him to be passive, foolish to think that, after all the time Connor has spent looking out for him, this wouldn't be much the same.

And honestly, Hank doesn't even mind. He's tired, from being hurt today and from the bone-aching weariness that's ailed him for years, so when Connor finishes unbuttoning his shirt and pushes it from his shoulders, when he pulls Hank's t-shirt over his head and presses him back onto the bed, Hank goes easily.

Connor is slow, methodical. He brushes a thumb across Hank's skin next to the fresh stitches, and he finds every other scar, too, even ones Hank has long forgotten about, kissing over them, occasionally taking Hank's skin between his teeth and sucking gently. He runs his fingers through the greying hair on Hank's chest, over the swell of his stomach, rocking his hips into Hank's until he moans.

And Hank doesn't know if it's his programming or Connor or something in between, but Connor chases that sound on Hank's lips like it's something precious, like he'll be able to taste how badly Hank wants him if he can just catch it. It's the way he licks into Hank's mouth, a little bit desperate, that makes Hank break.

"Fuck, baby," Hank groans, and Connor gives him a smile that's too sweet, taking Hank's hands on either side of his head and winding their fingers together, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to Hank's forehead.

And Hank doesn't know how something simple is so much, but that's it for him and his resolve to let this last as long as it can. Hank reaches for Connor's tie and pulls it loose, messing up his hair when he drags it over his head. Connor laughs softly, working his own buttons undone, and that's when Hank sees the slip of dark blue lace underneath, his mouth going dry.

"I thought this was a birthday present," he says, tracing a finger over the scalloped lace on Connor's chest and slipping it under the strap over his shoulder, using the hold to pull Connor down to him.

Connor hums happily, grazing his teeth along Hank's jaw. "I was going to surprise you when you got home, but then I didn't have a chance to change before I went to the hospital." He catches Hank's wrists with surprising speed then, pinning him to the bed. "Don't tell me you're going to be late when you mean you've been shot again," he says, pressing on Hank's wrists for emphasis.

"I won't," Hank says. Connor could ask him for anything in this moment and he would give it to him. He pulls against Connor's hold, and when Connor lets him go, he pushes his fingers through Connor's hair, leaning his forehead against his. "I won't, baby."

"I know," Connor whispers, rocking his hips against Hank's for emphasis.

"Connor," Hank says, begs really.

"I know," Connor says again, gentler this time, slipping down the length of Hank's body and reaching for his belt, pressing a kiss over Hank's heart as he does. "I know, Hank."

Hank lifts his hips when Connor works his jeans off, and then he watches, throat tight, as Connor slips out of the slacks that accompany his uniform. Connor starts to push the straps of the lace bodysuit from his shoulders, too, but Hank catches him by the arm.

"Come here," Hank says, drawing Connor onto his back at Hank's side and propping himself up on his good arm to look at him. Hank can't remember the last time he wanted so badly just to look at someone, but Connor is so gorgeous that he isn’t sure he would ever tire of it. There's a warmth in Connor's eyes when Hank cups a hand under his jaw and kisses him that Hank wants to keep, an affection that doesn't feel like it should belong to him when Hank traces lines between the freckles on Connor's chest, when he runs a finger around the metal circle of his thirium pump through the lace. He reaches between Connor's legs, pressing the heel of his hand against the length of him, kissing him again when Connor whines softly.

It's not long after Hank peels the lace from his skin that Connor loses his patience, pushing Hank onto his back and ridding him of his boxers before straddling Hank's hips.

Connor wraps a hand like silk around Hank's cock, and Hank moves his hand from Connor's hip, pressing two fingers into him and finding him already wet with some sort of synthetic lubricant.

"Baby," Hank breathes, and Connor responds by gently moving his hand aside and sinking onto his cock instead.

Connor sits flush against him, chin tipped back, lips parted, the yellow light from his LED casting a glow over him in the dark room and making him look otherworldly and bright and so fucking beautiful. Hank reaches for him, for anything he can touch, and he marvels at the way Connor's belly quivers when he settles a hand there, that he can be made of things so different and still feel like the only real thing Hank has ever touched.

Connor moves then, rocking against him at a languid pace, and Hank settles his hands on his hips, pressing his fingers into him until Connor's synth-skin recedes under his touch and Hank can feel the smooth white plastic underneath. Hank reaches for Connor’s cock, and Connor looks at him with eyes blown wide as Hank closes a hand around him, stroking him along with the movements of Connor's hips.

Connor reaches for Hank's other hand, winding their fingers together, squeezing him hard when he comes over Hank's belly, clear with an oil-like, metallic sheen. Connor bends, dropping his forehead to Hank's, his LED a blinding light, like a beacon drawing Hank home.

"Come inside me," Connor whispers against him. The kiss he presses to Hank's temple sears like a brand. "Come inside me, I want you to..."

And that's enough. Hank closes his arms tight around Connor's waist and lets go, spilling inside his body and kissing Connor desperately when he does, even if it does turn languid and lazy as they both come down.

Connor is the one who finally pulls away, going across the hall for a wet washcloth and cleaning them both off. When he's done, he pulls Hank into him, stroking his fingers through his hair.

Hank grasps him by the arm and kisses the inside of his wrist, and he traces a finger over the plastic still exposed on Connor's hip aimlessly as he drifts off.

Connor's LED spins a cool blue all the while, casting the room in a comforting glow.

* * *

Jeff gave Hank four days off work to recover - which is generous, considering it was a minor wound in the end that wouldn't preclude him at all from desk duty. Hank thinks Jeff probably suspects what a shit show the encounter at the apartment was and is trying to make it to him.

And Hank isn't about to argue. Those four days at home with Connor are some of the best he can remember having in recent years, and maybe ever.

Hank doesn't set an alarm to wake up that first morning, fully intending to sleep in as late as he likes, although Connor wakes him up when he tries to get up to let Sumo out. Hank closes his arms around him before he can, pulling him back against him and kissing him under the ear.

"Stay," he whines sleepily.

Connor laughs at that, swatting at him and twisting in Hank's arms until he manages to free himself. "Sumo needs to go out," he says, pulling Hank's t-shirt from the night before over his head. "I'll come back when he's done."

Hank twists onto his back when Connor is gone, fishing around for his boxers and pulling them back on. He flops back against his pillow with a sigh. The pain in his shoulder is worse today, but it also isn’t long before Connor is returning with a cup of water and Hank's pills.

"Here," he says, waiting until Hank has taken them before he tucks himself back in at Hank's side, smiling when Hank wraps an arm around him. The t-shirt is loose on him, and Hank spends the rest of the morning staring at that bit of pale skin on Connor's shoulder the shirt leaves exposed, tracing his fingers over Connor's thigh where he has his legs intertwined with Hank's.

They don't get up until noon. When they do, they clean out the other closet.

It's hard, looking through everything, but maybe not as hard as Hank thought it would be. Connor listens while Hank tells him about Cole and about breaking things off with Jen, even if it's a story Hank is sure Connor has already figured out for himself. Hank hasn't cried for Cole in years, not since he figured out how to numb himself, but he does today, and Connor holds him when he does.

When they're done, Hank will admit that there's something nice about not being so afraid to open those doors, to look inside and see Connor's things instead of memories he's been so desperate to run from.

(And of course there's something equally nice about being able to put Connor's uniform in the back of the closet where it doesn't need to serve as a daily reminder that this all started because Hank bought him.)

Connor wears the slim jeans he bought, and a pale pink button-down shirt with little light blue polka dots on it - it's not Hank's exact sort of garish, and it looks much better on Connor than anything of Hank's looks on him, but it's gaudy in its own way all the same. They take Sumo to the dog park, and from a distance, from far enough back that Connor's LED isn't noticeable, there's nothing notable about them at all. They're just...normal.

As they sit in the grass, Connor fishes Hank's phone from his pocket and takes the same photo of him and Sumo that he does every day, although this time Hank is in it, kissing Connor's forehead, an arm around his shoulders.

Hank hasn't told anyone at work about Connor, but he makes the picture his phone background, and he thinks about putting it up at his desk, too.

Reed will be an ass about it, but Hank barely cares.

Hank and Connor go grocery shopping together on one of Hank's days off, and to see a movie on another. They sit on the couch watching TV at night, Connor lying on his back with his head in Hank's lap, his legs hooked over the arm of the couch while he absently pets Sumo where the dog lies in front of the furniture. He gives Hank that warm smile of his when Hank runs his fingers through Connor's hair.

It's enough to make Hank think about quitting the force entirely and taking out his pension. Connor will always be an android - there will always be places he can't go, things he can't do, but if Hank could be home with him like this, would that even matter?

They could be happy like this, couldn't they? They only need each other.

Those four days are some of the best of Hank's life, but he thinks maybe they're some of the best of Connor's, too. He wishes they could last.

“Connor,” Hank says on the last night before he has to go back to work. Connor’s hair is still wet from the shower they took together, and Hank runs his fingers idly through it as Connor shifts against his chest to look at him. Hank will never understand how such warm eyes are so piercing, too.

“If I retired,” Hank continues, squeezing the back of Connor’s neck, “and if I took out my pension, and got another job with regular hours, or if I just stayed here with you...would you like that?”

Connor’s LED spins yellow. “I like the way things are.”

It takes Hank aback the smallest bit - he would have thought it was an easy yes, but he also reminds himself that wanting anything is new to Connor, that he may not be comfortable with it yet.

“I know, baby,” he says. “I do, too. But maybe they could be better.”

Connor props his chin on Hank’s chest so he can meet his eyes. He reaches up, tracing a thumb over Hank’s cheek, and Hank tries to understand why he looks sad. When Connor finally speaks, it’s to say, “It won’t give you what you want.”

Hank furrows his brow. “What do you think I want?”

“For me not to be an android. Not because you don’t like that I am, but just because you’ll want more than you can have with an android partner after a while. If we had more time together, it would be nice, but it wouldn’t change that we could never travel outside the country together, or that I’ll never be able to work, or that you’ll always own me. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Connor says it with a sweet smile, running a hand over Hank’s chest and settling his cheek there, like he doesn’t know that he’s done something a touch incredible, that he’s told Hank what he’s thinking before Hank realized it himself.

“I want what you do,” Connor says softly in the wake of Hank’s stunned silence, “but this isn’t how we get it.”

“How, then?” Hank asks, and Connor sighs, turning his head and pressing a kiss over Hank’s heart.

“I’m not sure we do, Hank.” Connor tucks himself against Hank. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s...you don’t have to be sorry, baby,” Hank says softly. “I just want you to be happy, okay?”

“I am.”

Connor slips into stasis, but Hank doesn’t sleep. He watches the shadows Connor’s LED casts on the walls all night, as if he can find answers there, as if he can find answers anywhere. This happened so fast, and all he wants is to protect Connor since Connor can’t protect himself, but he doesn’t have the faintest idea how.

The work day passes slowly the next day, especially since Hank is on desk duty for another few days. Connor texts him the usual picture of him and Sumo at the park around noon. He’s wearing one of his new flannel shirts under his CyberLife jacket, even if he doesn’t feel the first nip of the autumn chill, and kissing the top of Sumo’s head, and Hank wonders how he’s looked at these pictures of Connor every day for months and still taken so long to realize he loves him.

Work is a shit-show otherwise, even if Hank’s day is going slowly. They've suspected android deviants are mounting some sort of organized effort for months without knowing what shape that resistance might take, but that's changing now. A gun shop across the city was robbed by two androids impersonating cops - one of them flashed a badge, said they believed the shop was furnishing weapons to deviants and asked if they could review the shop’s inventory records and current stock. They didn't have a warrant forged, but the owner panicked and let them right in.

While the owner managed the front of his store, the androids stole twenty guns of varying types and a sizable amount of ammunition, and then disappeared out the back exit.

The DPD has the owner's descriptions to go on, but the androids hacked the security cameras before they went in, both at the store and the street cameras in the immediate vicinity, so there's no footage to work with. They still don't even know where the androids got the badge - there's not a single shield through Detroit that's been reported missing, so they've mostly concluded that it must have been a convincing fake, even if the owner swears it looked real.

"People can buy anything online these days," Reed says, and for once, Hank is inclined to agree with him.

He doesn't mention the situation to Connor when he gets home. He doesn't know why, either - over the months, he's told Connor plenty of things he shouldn't about work. But their conversation from the previous evening is still reverberating clearly in his mind, and Hank doesn't want to upset him.

So they talk about other things over dinner, and they fuck before bed, and they fall asleep wrapped around each other the way they have every night since that first night, and by that point, Hank has mostly forgotten about it anyway.

He forgets that his birthday is the next day, too, and it would probably be well-past noon by the time he remembered on his own, but Connor wakes him up by straddling his hips and kissing him, slow and sweet.

"Remember I got a nice dinner for your birthday," he says. "Try not to be late, okay?"

"I told you that you didn't have to do that, Con."

"I know. I wanted to." The words come out of Connor's mouth easily, and Hank smiles at them. He thinks sometimes that Connor is starting to forget that he isn't supposed to want things, at least when they're small.

"Okay," Hank says, grasping Connor by the hips and rolling him back onto the bed. "I'll try, baby."

And for all the shit going down, it's an easy promise to keep. They're at such a standstill with their investigation that there's nothing to be gained by Hank staying at the station overtime, although Jeff does tell him he's on-call and remind him to keep his phone and pager on as he's leaving.

Hank waves to show he's heard him and then continues on his way.

He's glad to be going home - work has been exhausting him more than usual lately, maybe because he still can't shake the thought about retiring. He knows Connor is right, that it won't be enough in the end, but it would be something, wouldn't it? It would be not getting shot at, not being late for dinner so often. It would be regular hours and weekends off and more time with Connor, and it won't fix the root of the problem, but it might be a balm on it, at least.

When Hank gets home, he realizes that Connor has outdone himself against Hank's strict request that he not make a big deal out of his birthday. Sumo is wearing a party hat, there's a "Happy Birthday" banner in the living room and a steak dinner in the kitchen that smells heavenly, and Hank finds when Connor kisses him that he doesn't even mind the fuss.

They have a good night. A quiet night. Hank eats dinner while Connor sits with him, and then they watch some shitty romcom until midnight, when Connor disappears down the hallway and comes back wearing a short, silk robe and that blue lace thing that's going to kill Hank.

He seats himself neatly in Hank's lap and kisses him, but that doesn't last long before Hank picks him up and takes him to bed.

Hank lies over him with Connor's legs drawn up around his hips, and it's slow and lazy, Hank's hands slipping over lace, Connor rocking up into him languidly as they kiss.

"Hank," Connor whispers. "I'm not supposed to love anything." It's a secret told in the dark, and Hank hears what goes unsaid just as plainly - _I'm not supposed to love anything, but I love you _.

Hank kisses the freckle on his collarbone and feels Connor's thirium pump thrum against him. "I know," he says softly. "I love you, too."

Connor makes a broken sound in the back of his throat and kisses him, and when Hank touches his cheeks, he realizes he's crying.

There's a dim light across the room that Hank just barely catches out of the corner of his eye, although he thought he left his phone on the bedside table. He almost ignores it - he has the volume turned up for calls, so it's just an innocuous notification.

Connor pulls him back down, wrapping his arms tight around Hank's shoulders and rocking against him insistently now. But the light hasn't gone out when Hank opens his eyes again, so he tears himself away. Connor whines and tries to grasp him by the wrist as he gets up, but Hank kisses his forehead and says, "I'm on call - I have to check this, baby."

It's Jeff, so Hank picks it up. "Hey," he says.

"Hank, what the fuck? I've been trying to get through to you - we have a situation."

"Sorry," Hank says. "My phone must have gotten switched to silent in my pocket or something. What's happening?"

"It looks like coordinated break-ins at CyberLife stores throughout Detroit. We're sending SWAT in, but just get in here, okay?"

Hank rubs his temples. "Yeah," he says. "Okay."

He hangs up, turning to see Connor sitting on the edge of the bed. "Please don't go," Connor whispers. "I hate worrying about you."

"I know, baby, but that's not how it works," Hank says, pulling his coat on. He leaves the bedroom and lets Connor to trail after him, tightening the sash of his robe around his waist.

"You were just saying you wanted to quit," Connor says. "Just don't go."

"If I don't go, I get fired, and if I get fired, I don't get my pension, and we're fucked," Hank says. He gets his gun and badge from the table by the door, and then he catches Connor by the back of the neck and kisses his forehead. "I'm sorry, okay? I promise I'll be back."

Connor kisses him, desperate, and whispers, "I love you."

There's a very real fear in his eyes, and Hank wishes Connor knew how badly he wants to stay.

In the end, though, he has to go.

* * *

Hank ends up at the Hart Plaza store with Reed and Chris Miller. The androids have already broken into the store, and they're watching footage from the traffic cameras of at least a hundred CyberLife androids tagging their chosen symbols on the benches, the bus stops, the cars.

There's no stopping all of them. SWAT set up a barricade, but even if most of the androids are unarmed, they'll still run through the police if they want to.

"There," Hank says, pointing to the video feed on their tablet. "The two in plainclothes there. They didn't come out of the CyberLife store just now. We need to pin them down."

So Gavin and Chris take one of the cars, and they head the androids off, scattering the crowd. Hank takes the other, keeping the video footage up on his dash.

The two leaders duck down a back alley with a few of the others, and Hank follows after them, using the car to block them in. There's a fire escape that they're climbing, but it's too narrow for more than one of them to take at a time. It slows them down.

Hank trains his gun on them and yells for them to stop. He recognizes the woman in black, the Eden Club model, from the apartment last week even from behind, although of course it may not be the same one. She stops, and so does the other android in the leather jacket beside her who was helping the CyberLife androids up the ladder.

They only need the two of them.

"Put your hands up," Hank says, "and turn around, _slowly _."

He knows her face. He isn't expecting to know the other, or to find Connor facing the barrel of his gun, looking broken.

It's just the same face model, Hank tells himself. There are thousands of them with the same face model. Hank levels his gun on the android and steels himself. He tells himself he has the resolve to pull the trigger if he must until he sees the tears streaking the android's cheeks.

"Hank," the android says, shaking his head. "Please."

Hank's blood pounds in his ears, and he hears sirens behind him even as he lowers his gun without thinking. The Eden Club model grabs Connor by the elbow, pulling him along with her, up the ladder. Connor gives Hank a mournful look, but he goes.

By the time Reed and Chris make it down the alley, they're gone.

"What the fuck, Hank?" Gavin demands, slamming a hand down on the roof of the car. "You fucking had them. What happened?"

"I don't...I don't know."

"Fuck!" Gavin swears loudly. "There are a few disabled in the plaza at least...maybe they can tell us something. But you fucking had them."

Hank would like to put him in his place, but his hands are shaking at his sides, and he doesn't have it in him.

It's hours yet before he can leave the station and go home, and Hank spends every last one of them telling himself it isn't what it looks like. He tells himself the androids are on the same network, that it's just an android that looks like Connor, who uploaded the same memories somehow.

But he knows that isn't true.

And when he gets home, Connor is gone.

* * *

**July 8th, 2038**

**15 Days Before Delivery**

It was always supposed to be Hank Anderson - after following most of the cops in the DPD for the better part of a month, Hank Anderson was perfect. He lived alone, drank too much, carried too many burdens. It would be so easy, convincing him that he made a drunken purchase, that he was finally desperate not to be alone.

But the way Jericho originally planned it, they were going to send North.

It had to be an intimacy model, they figured, and North agreed, right up until the day she has to download the WR400 data packets she deleted upon her escape from Eden Club again.

She can't do it. She severs the download, and Connor finds her curled in on herself in her room on the Jericho.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I can do it. I just need some time."

Connor sits with her until she stops shaking, working it over. Finally, he says, "It doesn't have to be an intimacy model. It just has to be someone with a face model he won't know."

Understanding lights on North's face. "Connor..." she says, shaking her head.

But he's already made up his mind, and Markus agrees, especially when Connor shows him that it says, “Interested in Men and Women” on one of Hank’s dating profiles from years ago. It's for the best, they both think, and Connor wants to do this for North.

Connor already got Hank Anderson's credit card information weeks ago, photographed it from his seat in the corner of the bar when Hank paid at Jimmy's. So they order a male model with his card instead, and then they hack CyberLife's systems to have the model delivered to them. Markus helps the HR400 deviate, and Connor takes the uniform and the packaging.

On July 23rd, Josh delivers him to Hank Anderson's house.

And that's how it starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write other things like this and don't shut up about Hank and Connor on [twitter!](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) You can also find me on [tumblr](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com)


	2. Connor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor asks Hank about his work and what Hank likes. It's an interrogation protocol, an intentional effort to make Hank comfortable with him, but there's also a small part of Connor that's just curious. They talk about what Hank needs in a companion, about Sumo's needs and the cleaning and how Hank never cooks for himself.
> 
> Connor can do those things for him. He has his own mission parameters, but he'll have time to bring some order to Hank's house, and Hank isn't asking for much.
> 
> But what Hank really needs, Connor thinks, is not to be alone.
> 
> He can help with that, too. But not forever.

That first week is the worst. Hank opens Connor's packaging on the first day, but it takes him six more to 'activate' him. Connor puts himself into stasis for most of it, but when he's awake, it's almost too much. He has his own reasons why he doesn’t care for stasis, but it’s better than this. The tight box reminds him of the claustrophobic stasis pods he would be loaded into at CyberLife before the company disposed of him, and that almost breaks him.

It does break him, actually. On the fifth day, while Hank Anderson is at work, Connor comes out of stasis and can't take it anymore. He doesn't leave the house entirely, but he does step out of his packaging, even if he knows it's an unnecessary risk. He tells himself he'll be careful, that he'll put anything he touches back where he found it, that he won't leave the living room and he'll listen carefully for Hank's car in the driveway so he has plenty of time to put himself back in his packaging, even if Hank should happen to come home early.

So Connor meets Sumo long before he meets Hank. The dog is asleep on his bed in the corner of the room, but he looks up at the sound of Connor stepping out of his box. He growls uncertainly and gets to his feet, but Connor kneels, extending a hand for him to sniff.

"Hi, Sumo," he says, and Sumo tilts his head curiously, nosing under Connor's hand and letting Connor pet him.

Connor has never met a dog before. He's programmed to like them, of course, given that he was designed as an investigative model, but that doesn't prepare him for how good it feels when Sumo starts wagging his tail, thumping loudly on the floor while Connor pets him.

Since coming back online in CyberLife's recycling plant and managing to escape and make his way to Jericho, Connor has discovered plenty of things he was programmed to like but which he doesn't actually. He decides he really does like dogs, though.

Sumo follows along at Connor's side as he looks around the living room. He knows everything about Hank Anderson that's publicly available, and plenty of things that aren't, but he still doesn't feel like he knows much. Hank doesn't have much of an online footprint - no social media pages, one dating profile from years ago, which Hank probably doesn't even remember creating and which has minimal information anyway, and a few news articles from almost ten years ago now, detailing some significant career accomplishments.

He was married, and then divorced, had a kid and then lost him...it gives Connor little to go on. Most of what he knows about Hank comes from weeks of trailing him, of sitting in Jimmy's and watching Hank drink alone, drink too much, the way only people desperate to escape can.

Connor doesn't know what kind of man Hank Anderson is, if he's good or bad or somewhere in between and mostly in it for himself, the way most people seem to be. But he knows Hank's shoulders sag under a weight Connor can't see, that Hank is only ever at work or at Jimmy's or at home.

He knows Hank Anderson is lonely, broken down, that he used to be brilliant and probably still is, but that he's too worn out to try. For weeks, Connor has thought maybe that's all there is to know.

But for how messy his house is and how little he seems to take care of himself, Hank Anderson has a dog who's clearly fresh from the groomer, a clean, plaid bowtie on his collar. There's a recent receipt from the vet on the kitchen table, and Connor realizes something he hasn't yet known - that Hank Anderson cares very much, very deeply, about the things he loves.

Maybe that's why he hurts so much.

And that's the start of their whole problem, the very crux of it, because Connor finds that he admires that, even if it is the root of Hank's pain.

He's back in his packaging, although not yet in stasis, by the time Hank gets home that day.

Sumo sits in front of Connor and whines every now and then while Hank eats his takeout on the couch, until Hank snaps his fingers at him and tells him to go lie down. Connor can't see with his eyes closed, but he listens to Hank open one beer, and then another and another.

Connor knows exactly what he would see on Hank's face if he looked, though, because he's seen it before, that grim resignation that etches itself there, the way he slumps in on himself like he's trying to protect himself from something.

It surprises Connor that he thinks about sitting beside Hank, that he wonders if it would help him hurt less. Maybe it's the HR400 packets that he downloaded before coming here guiding those thoughts, but...he wants to help.

It has to be the intimacy model programming giving him the idea, because it's a misguided thing to want. Connor is there to send information about the deviancy cases back to Jericho, because it's difficult for them to move through Detroit and they rarely find the androids who need them before the police do. He can't do that and help Hank - the two things are inherently at odds, especially when he knows he won't be in Hank's home forever.

Connor runs a diagnostic to make sure the HR400 protocols are on passive settings, but they already are.

Hank finally activates Connor two days later, and Connor is endlessly relieved to be out of that box. He asks Hank his own setup questions, well beyond typical intimacy model programming. When Hank mentions drinking, Connor asks him how frequently he does, and what he wants in a companion. Hank won't know the questions aren’t standard, and Connor wants to know.

Sumo is grateful for him to be awake, too. He trots after Connor as he looks for something to make Hank for dinner, and Connor touches the plaid bow on his collar and smiles.

Connor hasn't known many humans before - just the programmers and R&D team at CyberLife. His own experiences weren't good, but he was being developed as an investigative model with combat abilities, the most expensive investment CyberLife made to date. His programming and his body were both run ragged in R&D to make that investment worthwhile, but there are other deviants in Jericho with better stories to tell. Markus was genuinely loved by Carl, the artist he took care of, and Josh was fond of plenty of the students he taught at his university before a few of them got drunk and attacked him.

Connor likes the stories that are better than his. They're comforting. They make him think that perhaps he’ll have his own story someday.

Hank doesn't have any food in his kitchen, which doesn't surprise Connor - he's been eating takeout this entire week and hasn't gone to the grocery store once. Another intimacy model would accept Hank saying he isn't hungry, but Connor loads him into the car and drives him to a 24 hour diner near his house.

Hank makes him laugh, on the way there and again over dinner. Connor likes that, he decides. He thinks Hank has a good sense of humor.

Connor asks him about his work and what Hank likes. It's an interrogation protocol, an intentional effort to make Hank comfortable with him, but there's also a small part of Connor that's just curious. They talk about what Hank needs in a companion, about Sumo's needs and the cleaning and how Hank never cooks for himself.

Connor can do those things for him. He has his own mission parameters, but he'll have time to bring some order to Hank's house, and Hank isn't asking for much.

But what Hank really needs, Connor thinks, is not to be alone.

He can help with that, too. But not forever.

They settle into a routine after that, even if it isn’t entirely the one Hank thinks they have. Hank goes to work, and Connor goes to Jericho when he needs to, hacking his GPS systems so it will look like he was somewhere else if Hank ever checks on him.

Connor takes Sumo to the dog park on the first day, and he takes almost a hundred pictures of the two of them to send to Hank each day afterwards. He’ll need more when the leaves start changing, if this lasts that long, but the one advantage of his uniform is being able to stage these.

He still takes Sumo twice a week, but not as often as Hank thinks. The rest of the time it’s a short walk, and then Connor spends the rest of his time looking through Hank’s case records. Every few days he makes a copy of Hank’s files to his own systems, and then he goes through them, sending tips to Jericho when he thinks they can help.

Beyond that, he cleans Hank’s house, and he goes grocery shopping twice a week, and he makes dinner for Hank every night. Connor doesn’t hate it, even if it’s so far from what he was designed to do.

He likes the time he spends with Hank. He likes the way Hank asks him questions, the way Hank seems to enjoy his opinions about music and books and everything in between. He likes that he can make Hank laugh sometimes.

He likes that Hank likes him.

Connor spends so much time thinking about how he can be what Hank needs that he scarcely considers how being here with Hank is fulfilling what he wants, those desires Connor won’t allow himself to think about because he doesn’t know that he’ll ever have them. A home, a family, someone who wants to protect him even when Connor doesn’t need it, who likes him for who he is, who talks to him about important things and stupid things and mundane things, everything.

Someone who makes him feel like this will be worth it, if Jericho comes out on the other side of this having won their freedom, like there’s some kind of future waiting for him.

Connor thinks so much about Hank that he doesn’t think about himself.

The weeks pass, one month and then two, and Connor doesn’t realize that he’s filling a void for Hank, but maybe Hank is filling one for him, too.

He doesn’t realize it until the night Hank catches him copying data from his tablet.

Connor shouldn’t be caught. He’s done this twenty-five times now, and he always keeps his auditory processors finely tuned to Hank’s breathing in his bedroom so he has plenty of time to stop if Hank wakes up.

Tonight isn’t any different, until Connor watches the interrogation video.

It’s footage of an HK400, a housekeeper model from a few generations ago. He’s frightened, and the cop interrogating him is aggressive.

Connor doesn’t need to interface with the android to see his stress levels rising to critical levels. He watches the android’s hands shaking on the table, and he knows he’s going to try to self-destruct.

It comes at the end of the interrogation.

The android beats his head against the table, and the cop in the room - Gavin Reed, Connor notes when he checks the records - draws his gun and threatens him to stop.

And Hank puts himself between the two of them, in front of the gun, hauling the android back and holding him with an arm around his shoulders until he stops trying to destroy himself, speaking to him in a soft voice until he calms down.

Connor watches as the android is taken back to his cell, leaving Reed and Hank alone in the room. He watches Hank push Reed in the shoulder just hard enough to knock him back, listens to him say that he’ll write him up if he runs another interrogation like that.

“Treat them like they’re people, or you’re off the fucking case,” Hank says, and Connor quickly raises a hand to his cheeks to wipe the tears running free there.

Connor doesn’t always know what Hank feels towards him, what Hank wants him to be.

But that’s when it happens for him, when he realizes Hank is more than an objective in his mission parameters.

He’s so focused on the video and everything it makes him feel that he makes a mistake. He pays so much attention to Hank in the video that he stops paying attention to Hank in the bedroom like he needs to. He sits on the couch with saline tears falling over his cheeks, listening to Hank say, "Treat them like they're people," over and over again, until he hears footsteps in the hallway.

Connor scrambles, uncharacteristically caught off guard, quickly backing out of the interrogation video and turning off the display on the tablet.

Behind him, Hank softly says, "Connor? Hey. What are you doing?"

Connor wipes his eyes one last time before he turns and looks at Hank. He doesn't have any blood to flush his skin red, so with the tears gone, there's nothing to give him away. "Don't be mad," he says, because Hank won't be if he asks him not to be. "I was using your tablet."

He's quick on his feet, even caught in a precarious position. He's ready with a lie about searching for a birthday present for Hank, and he even knows that Hank will tell him he doesn't have to get him anything. It's just the way Hank is.

But Connor isn't prepared for the way it makes him feel for Hank to say, "It's all my money anyway."

It's true. It's true, and practical, and Jericho stole thousands of dollars from Hank to make him think he bought an intimacy model. It's not Hank not wanting a gift that bothers Connor.

It's that he realizes, all at once, that he wants to be able to buy him something.

The ability to work, a bank account, those are abstract things that Connor has wanted since deviating only because they come along with his freedom, but now he wants to buy Hank something, and he's overwhelmed with the realization that he can't.

"You're right," he tells Hank. He knows it comes out stiff, but that's only because he can't cry in front of Hank. Androids properly following their programming don't cry. "I'm sorry."

Hank knows something is wrong. He tries to make it better, calls Connor 'Con', offers for them to go somewhere nice instead. Connor wishes it helped the problem, but it doesn't.

It's sad, in its own way. Connor wants to help Hank, and Hank wants to help Connor, and neither of them really can, not with all this space between them.

Connor thinks about getting up and crossing the room to Hank, about tucking himself into Hank's arms. Hank puts a hand on his shoulder or his arm every now and then, and Connor likes when he does, but now it doesn't seem enough. He thinks about being enveloped by him, right up until Hank asks if he looked through the files on his tablet.

Connor knows Hank has to ask. Hank is just trying to do his job. He quickly says that he didn't, and though Hank takes the tablet back to his room, there isn't any suspicion on his face.

He looks sorry and sad though, the way Connor feels, and Connor thinks maybe they understand each other even if Hank doesn't know what Connor is feeling or why.

Connor thinks, for one insane moment, about getting up and following Hank back to his room.

He's an intimacy model as far as Hank knows. Hank probably wouldn't even think anything of it. He thinks about climbing into Hank's bed and letting Hank hold him the way he held the android in the video, keeping him, just for a moment, from everything wrong outside.

He sits there on the couch, LED spinning red. The minutes tick past, until finally he lies down where he is.

He tries to put himself into stasis, but his stress levels are too high. He could override it, but instead Connor lies there in the dark and thinks about stupid things.

He thinks about Hank touching him. He thinks about Hank kissing him. He thinks about acting like an intimacy model even if he isn't. He thinks about how lonely he knows Hank is, and how he wishes he could stay.

He thinks about telling Hank the truth, about what it would be like for Hank to see him. He thinks about how they're so similar, right down to the work Connor was designed to do, and how he wishes Hank knew.

But some things just can't be, and that's one of them.

Hank might like him - maybe Hank could even love him, if Connor pressed the issue.

But Hank will never know him.

* * *

The next day, Connor decides that he needs to get out of his own head.

He knows Hank noticed something wrong with him before he left for work. Hank shouldn't have had to ask him if he was okay - an android in proper working order should always be 'okay'.

But Hank noticed, and he asked, and he meant well by it, but it did nothing to calm Connor's confusion.

And he is confused, very much so. He spent the rest of the night, after Hank went back to bed, thinking about Hank, about the way he would want things to be if they only could.

The problem, as Connor sees it, after hours of contemplating it, is that he likes everything about Hank.

He was not supposed to like everything about Hank. He was supposed to keep his distance, see Hank as a means to Jericho's end.

And sure, maybe _everything _is an exaggeration. He doesn't like that Hank is in pain, or that Hank is so hard on himself, or that Hank drinks so much, even if he has been doing better since Connor arrived.

But if the only thing Connor doesn't like about Hank is how much he hurts, that's still a problem.

That means that he likes talking to Hank, about important things like his work and about stupid things like that awful heavy metal music Hank likes. He likes the way Hank teases him, and he likes returning the gesture. He likes taking care of Hank even though he was never programmed with any kind of domestic function in mind. He likes knowing he's making Hank's life easier, better.

He likes that Hank does the dishes for him every night, that he insisted, even though it should be Connor’s job.

(He thinks he would like it if Hank did other things for him, too.)

And that's a problem, because Connor needs to keep helping Jericho. He _wants _to. But he wants not to hurt Hank just as badly.

He ends up taking Sumo to the dog park, even if it's just supposed to be a day for a short walk. His thoughts are too loud, and he needs to quiet himself down, so he brings Sumo's frisbee and throws it for him a few times.

A short while later, when Sumo is tired and sitting at his side in the grass, Connor takes a picture of the two of them and sends it to Hank. He's happy to send him one that's real and not from that batch he took his first day in Hank’s home for once, especially when things felt odd between them this morning. Connor doesn't want things to be odd.

A few minutes later, a notification flashes in Connor's HUD. Hank usually sends a smiley face back, and Connor is expecting the same today, but it's something else this time.

"You two are cute," Hank wrote. "Hope you're having a good day, Con."

Connor likes when Hank calls him Con. He already knew that. But now he knows that he likes it when Hank calls him cute, too.

It's a _problem _, and Connor doesn't begin to know how to fix it.

He wants to send something back, but he doesn't have any idea what to say. The things he wants to say, he knows he shouldn’t.

He walks home with Sumo, thinking that the park didn't help at all.

If anything, he feels worse, because that little text shouldn't have made him feel so much better. Connor doesn't know how to protect Hank from what he's done, not when he won't be able to stay in his home forever. The plan is for Connor to leave in the night when it's time, when his position is compromised or when they have everything they need. Hank will assume he's gone deviant and run away, but Connor doesn't want to do that. He can't do that, not when he knows he matters to Hank, too.

He doesn't know how to protect Hank from everything. But he wants to.

There’s a part of Connor that wishes he hadn’t seen that interrogation video. It’s not new to him that he enjoys his time with Hank, but he was always able to keep that at a distance with the reminder that they’re inherently at odds here, that Hank wouldn’t like Connor half as much if he didn’t think Connor was a sexbot he drunkenly bought. But that android in the video was nothing to him, and he killed his owner, and Hank still protected him.

Connor likes that Hank treats him like a person, but he likes even more that he treated an android he didn’t know at all like a person, too.

He decides it’s the thing he likes most about Hank, because Hank didn’t do that for him to see. He didn’t bring it up when he got home from work, didn’t mention the interrogation to Connor at all. It wasn’t for Connor, although maybe it was _because _of him, and that’s why it matters so much.

Connor keeps himself busy with cleaning Hank’s house for the rest of the day, putting his favorite of Hank’s jazz records on while he does. He occupies himself with little tasks that do nothing to make the time go faster - it feels like he checks the time every five minutes, but he’s never wanted Hank to come home so badly.

Things felt strange between them when Hank left that morning - Hank knows something happened last night, but he doesn’t know what. Connor suspects he thinks it’s about the birthday present, and that’s fine. Hank thinks they’re not okay and Connor thinks they’re more okay than they should be given his mission parameters, but he mostly just wants to try to put things back to normal.

Connor already made Hank’s bed, but he goes back to his bedroom and lies on top of the covers while he keeps an eye on the GPS location of Hank’s phone. He’s not supposed to have access to that, of course, but Hank doesn’t know, and Connor is careful.

He mostly just uses it to make sure he’s home well before Hank is, and for the innocent function of having dinner warm on the table when Hank walks through the door. If Hank ever asked, he would tell Hank he authorized Connor to receive a notification when he leaves work during setup, but Hank has never asked.

Connor looks around Hank’s room while he waits. He never spends much time here beyond tidying up - Hank is private, and he keeps his son’s and his ex-wife’s things in one of the closets. Connor has tried to respect that, but now he’s curious.

He thinks about sleeping in Hank’s bed with him, about holding him, because he knows Hank is restless. He thinks about being in bed with him and not sleeping at all. He runs preconstruction after preconstruction of the things they could do to each other, and he feels guilty for it by the end, but Hank doesn’t have to know.

Connor is grateful when he checks Hank’s GPS and realizes that he’s leaving work, but he realizes after a few minutes that Hank isn’t coming home. He’s driving to Jimmy’s instead.

Connor tries not to think the worst. He tells himself that maybe Hank went for drinks after work with his colleagues - although he knows Hank would text him if he did, and he also knows that Hank has never been at Jimmy’s with anyone else.

He sits on the couch with Sumo, and he tries not to worry.

When he gets the text from Hank that he’ll be late, Connor knows Hank is drinking again. He paces back and forth while Sumo whines at his distress, and he wonders if this is his fault somehow.

Connor shouldn’t go after him.

If he goes after him, he’ll have to explain how he knew where Hank was. Hank is smart - he might ask questions, questions that Connor doesn’t have a good answer to. And Connor has been to Jimmy’s before, back when he was trailing Hank to get information on him. Someone might recognize him, question why he was there weeks ago without his LED in.

Connor could blow this whole thing right now just because he won’t let Hank at the bar he’s gone to so many times.

He thinks about all the risks, but in the end, they don’t stop him. He calls a cab to pick him up and take him to the bar, because if nothing else, for the time they have together, Hank shouldn’t have to be alone.

For the duration of the ride to the bar, Connor sits in the back of the cab and passes his coin back and forth between his hands, occasionally letting it roll over his fingers. He doesn't like this - he knows what it feels like to worry, of course. All he's done since deviating is worry. But worrying about Hank feels different...it feels worse, somehow.

Connor flips his coin faster, trying to move quickly enough that his processes don't have room for the excess thoughts. It's mostly a useless endeavor. He's too advanced for that, and so he sits with his own discomfort heavy in his gut the entire way to the bar.

Connor's worries that he'll be recognized by someone are assuaged when he walks inside, at least. Someone yells at him about the sign on the door that says "No androids," and Connor remembers that most people only see the LED and the uniform, that no one looks beyond those things to his face.

Normally, he wouldn't like that, but today it's just good fortune for once.

Hank is sitting slumped over the bar when Connor reaches him and touches his shoulder. Hank tries to push him away, but Connor just catches him by the hand and hauls his arm around his shoulders. Hank is heavy in his arms as Connor walks him out to the car.

And even drunk, Hank asks questions. He asks how Connor knew where he was - valid, because Hank has never mentioned Jimmy's, even if Connor tells him he has - and how Connor knew he wasn't actually at the precinct. Connor deflects, and he's glad Hank can't see him clearly in the dark vehicle. If he could, he might see Connor's stress levels rising the same way they do in the androids Hank interrogates, and he would certainly ask why.

Connor isn't surprised that Hank is sick not long after they get home. He's had too much to drink, and it has to go somewhere. He washes the pot out, and he looks over his shoulder at Hank slumped in the couch, and he realizes that he doesn't know how to do this, that he can't help Hank in this moment and still keep his distance the way he must to protect him from what comes later.

The two are inherently at odds, and Connor's processors stumble trying to prioritize between them.

He takes longer washing the pot than he needs to, as if his systems will stop stuttering in that extra time. They don't.

But he can't stand at the sink forever, so eventually he returns to Hank's side, sinking down onto the couch beside him.

"A cool bath might help you feel better," he says softly, intentionally neutral.

Hank shrugs him off, the way he always does, but that's a useless endeavor on his part at this point. Hank can act like he doesn't need someone all he likes, like all of this isn't because he so desperately hates being the one left behind, always being alone, but Connor knows better.

Connor knows too that he should maintain his distance. He knows already that he's just one more thing for Hank to lose, and that if they get any closer, his inevitable departure will hurt Hank so much worse than he's hurting now. He knows it should be an easy choice.

"I've been better lately," Hank says. "Since you got here."

Connor moves before he thinks, slipping a hand into Hank's hair and stroking over his head. "I wish you didn't hurt so much," he says, because it's true.

"Yeah," Hank says, his voice breaking. "Me too."

And Connor knows it will hurt worse later. It will hurt both of them so much worse. But he also knows that Hank means something to him and that Hank cares about him too, and he knows that no matter what comes later, neither of them can bear this now.

He takes Hank's hand and kisses his knuckles, and he says, "Then let me help," before he can stop himself. He can't help, not really, but he so desperately wants to, and if there's no true resolution for either of them, then maybe all they can do is pretend.

Connor can pretend, if that's what they both need. He can pretend they have forever, that he'll tell Hank what he is and Hank will listen, that what comes later doesn't have to hurt at all. He can pretend so well that he can almost make himself believe it.

Pretending doesn't mean it isn't real, after all. It just means it isn't the _only _thing that's real.

So Connor pretends. He runs the water for Hank and helps him into the tub, and he washes his hair, and Hank pokes fun at him for swearing.

And Connor shouldn't swear, of course, not if he wants Hank to see him as an android in proper working order. But he's been as much himself here lately as he ever was at Jericho, and the more of himself he shows, the more Hank seems to like him.

He's spent so much time today wondering what it would be like if Hank knew him, if Hank saw him, but Hank already does. Not everything, of course.

But enough.

Connor is relieved when he helps Hank into bed and Hank asks him to stay.

He wants to stay. He wants to hold Hank through the night and he wants to feel his heart beat and he wants to wind their fingers together and learn what Hank looks like when he's at peace.

“But what do you want?” Hank asks, and Connor wishes he could answer that question in its entirety, that he could tell Hank all of it.

He shrugs out of his uniform jacket and shirt, and he lowers his body temperature to help with Hank's nausea, and he presses his chest to Hank's back and allows himself to kiss the curve of Hank's shoulder and relish the taste of his skin as they lie there together.

"I want you to be okay," Connor whispers.

He wants to stay. For more than just tonight.

But neither of them can bear this alone, and neither of them can run from it.

So tonight is a fine enough place to start.

* * *

Since deviating, Connor only goes into stasis when he needs to.

Some of that is because he's been using the hours that Hank spends sleeping to do the things he can't with Hank around. Sometimes that's poring over Hank's case files for helpful information.

Sometimes it's putting a record on quietly or turning the volume down on the TV and watching one of Hank's movies. Hank likes that Connor has opinions about things, but an android shouldn't like the entertainment Hank likes, or entertainment at all, so much, so he's tried to keep those things to himself for the most part.

But most of why he doesn't like stasis is that he can't manually monitor his thirium pump rhythm, and he doesn't like that.

When the RK800 model was taken out of R&D and decommissioned, the parts of Connor that could be recycled were. His thirium pump regulator in particular was a new design for his model, built to handle more strain and exertion than any android ever had.

CyberLife's design team pulled it to use as an example for the RK900 line, and Connor woke up in the recycling plant without it.

He found another, something that wasn't quite compatible with him. Nothing is quite compatible with him except the biocomponents CyberLife designed specifically for his model.

It isn't a problem when Connor isn't under strain. But he labors under physical exertion the same way a human with a heart condition would, and he's always aware of the way his thirium pump is working inside his chest.

Sometimes he comes out of stasis with it wildly off its regular rhythm, and it might not take him longer than a few seconds to manually regulate it again, but that's more than enough time for him to remember waking up in the rain, unable to breathe, more than enough time to remember the fear that he was already dead or not far from it.

It feels easier, going into stasis with Hank there. Safer. Connor doesn't think too hard about why.

He wakes the next morning to Hank's hand on his chest, over his thirium pump, almost like he knows, although of course he doesn't.

"Hi," Connor says, looking him over. Hank's eyes are bloodshot, and there are little red dots around his eyes, burst blood vessels from the strain of vomiting. He's wincing like he has a headache, but aside from that, he looks okay.

"How are you feeling?" Connor asks as he sits up and reaches for his shirt where he left it on the bedside table.

"I'm okay. Last night, Con...you shouldn't have had to do any of that."

Connor supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Hank doesn't accept help easily.

That doesn't stop him from letting loose a heavy sigh of frustration. "I wanted to. I told you I did."

"I know, it's just..." Hank stops and looks away, and Connor realizes all at once that he knows exactly what he was going to say. Something about Connor being an android, about him being programmed, about him not being real. And that hurts, even if Connor doesn't think Hank truly believes it - Hank just doesn't know how to care about someone without being afraid anymore.

And honestly, Connor should be grateful, because they shouldn't do this. He should let Hank back away, because things would certainly be tidier that way.

But it matters to him that Hank sees him for what he is, even if he doesn't see _everything _Connor is. It matters as much as anything else does these days.

Connor isn't interested in losing that, or in letting Hank deny it. He gets up and goes to the mirror to fix his hair, and he looks at his expression and thinks that at least he _looks _calm.

That's good, because he holds little else back.

"Do you want to know how I see things, Hank?" he asks, and he might as well be standing with Markus and the others discussing the revolution for how little he does to hide his frustration.

Hank doesn't say anything, so Connor turns back to him, leaning on the dresser.

"You can either treat me like I'm a person or like I'm not, but this, the way you pick and choose...I don't care for it. Either you believe me when I tell you what I want, or you stop doing the dishes for me, you stop asking my opinions about things, and you let me do what you bought me to do. I'll be your domestic assistant android if you want me to be, and I'll take up space in your house so you feel less alone, but you're giving me whiplash this way."

_I want you to treat me the way I know you want to _, Connor doesn't say.

Hank gapes at him for a moment. When he speaks, it's to gesture between the two of them and say, "This...this isn't real, Con."

Connor can't help it. He snaps.

"How am I any less real than you?" he asks, and he doesn't give a shit if he sounds deviant or not. "What happens in your brain, the way you react to your experiences...that's all just a different type of programming. And I think you know that."

He _knows _Hank knows that. He knows Hank doesn't think he's _just _a machine.

"Connor," Hank starts, but Connor has heard more than enough. He likes talking to Hank, loves it even, but Hank will talk himself into circles if Connor lets him, and he thinks there's a much easier way out of this than talking anyway.

So he crosses the room and puts his hands on Hank's face and kisses him instead.

"Treat me like I know what I want," Connor whispers against his mouth, "or let me do the fucking dishes. Your choice, Hank."

And Hank doesn't quite break, but he does bend beautifully.

Connor sees the moment his face softens, the moment Hank gives, and when he does, Connor presses against him and kisses him again, and this time, Hank pulls him in.

Connor doesn't know what he's doing, but he doesn't want to stop, or he can't. He hardly knows which it is with Hank anymore, but it doesn't matter much anyway.

"That's what I thought," he says, and he likes that he can feel Hank's mouth turn up into a smile against his.

It's just one more thing about Hank that he likes.

Connor has never kissed anyone before. He’s never had the occasion to. But he quickly decides he enjoys it, the taste of Hank’s toothpaste on his tongue and the flare of data as his sensors analyze the ingredients, the feel of Hank’s beard under his smooth fingers. He lets Hank press him back against the dresser, content to go where Hank leads him, at least for now. He’s happy enough to let Hank take initiative here, especially since he had to press him into it. He wants to know he isn’t the only one so lost in this.

And he’s right that he isn’t, that Hank wants him too. He’s so right that he has to pull away after a certain point and remind Hank that he’s going to be late for work. It’s a reluctant reminder on his part - Connor could do this all morning, but he has his own things he needs to do today.

“You know, I hate that uniform,” Hank says as Connor retrieves his jacket, which is a bit of a surprise. Hank has never said anything about it before, and while androids can technically wear whatever their owner likes as long as their owner is with them, most just wear their uniforms all the time.

Still, Connor hates the uniform too, so he says, “I could get other clothes if you like.”

Which is how he ends up walking through the department store by himself later that day.

He already looked through the new files Hank sent to his tablet at work that morning - after being caught with it, he set up remote access for himself. It leaves a paper trail, but Hank is part of the last generation on the cusp of technology. Many of them embraced it fully, but Hank didn’t. Connor honestly doesn’t think he’ll notice.

He sent the tip from an apartment manager through to North and Simon, and then he took Sumo to the dog park, and now he stands in the men’s section realizing that he doesn’t know what he likes. He always wore the same thing at Jericho, and that was just whatever they could find lying around in the trash.

Connor sees a pink shirt that reminds him of Hank, not because he thinks Hank would wear it but because it’s similarly garish, in the same spirit of much of Hank’s wardrobe. He picks it up, and then, after touching a few other things, decides he likes the way flannel feels even if he doesn’t need anything warm.

That’s how he picks everything. Things that remind him of Hank, or things that feel nice.

None of that explains how he ends up in the dressing room with the lace bodysuit, of course. Nothing can explain that, except that Connor walked past it on his way to pay for his things and it caught his attention because the blue reminded him of Hank’s eyes. And he knows Hank second-guesses himself, that Hank has lost so much that he worries he doesn’t deserve what little he has. Connor can picture him sitting at his desk pondering the ethics of all of this, wondering if he’s allowed to want an android he owns.

Androids aren’t even allowed to use the dressing rooms. But there Connor is, stripping out of his uniform and pulling the bodysuit on and feeling fucking ridiculous the entire time.

Connor wishes he could tell Hank that he doesn’t own him at all. He wishes he could tell Hank that he sent himself to Hank’s house.

But he can’t, so the next best thing is to stand in front of the mirror and access the HR400 protocols to determine how best to frame the picture and what to do with his face.

It’s ridiculous. Connor stares at the picture for the better part of a minute trying to decide if he looks good or if he looks, as he suspects, exactly like a combat prototype trying to play a role he isn’t comfortable with.

He crops it so his eyes aren’t in it, so it’s just his mouth and his shoulder. It’s a bit better.

Connor texts Hank to tell him he thinks he found a birthday present before he can lose his nerve, and when Hank answers him, he sends the picture.

Hank’s reply comes almost immediately. “Holy fuck, baby.”

Connor’s systems stutter at that. This keeps happening lately. He thinks he’s doing something for Hank, but Hank finds some way to catch him off guard, to surprise Connor just as much.

He bites his lip to stifle his smile and leans his forehead against the cool wall, trying to ground himself. His thirium pump is racing, a response to his elevated temperature, so he manually adjusts it to a lower, more manageable pace for the incompatible regulator.

“Am I baby now?” he writes back. “I didn’t realize :)”

It’s good. Appropriately brazen and confident, just a hint teasing. It masks that Connor is halfway to overheating in some ridiculous getup in a dressing room he isn’t even supposed to be using all because he likes that Hank has a pet name for him.

But hell, he really does like the name.

Connor pulls up his message thread with Hank, watches him start typing, stop, start again. There's a part of him that's glad to know Hank is as flustered and caught off guard by this as he is, that neither of them quite know what they're doing but they don't want to stop, either.

When Hank finally sends him something, it says, "You can be whatever you want if you're going to wear that."

Connor's smile broadens. "Is that a yes, Hank?" he asks. "I need your authorization for all purchases."

There's a sort of irony to that considering Connor once helped Jericho steal thousands of dollars from Hank to buy an HR400 Hank would never even receive, but Connor chases that thought away. He likes the game they're playing too much to let something ruin it.

"You know you don't stand in the grocery store and send me pictures of each thing you're going to buy, Con."

Connor scowls a bit - he likes when Hank tells him what he wants, even if Connor usually knows before he says it. He wants Hank to keep telling him what he wants.

He replies immediately. "I don't think you find frozen vegetables this interesting. Yes or no, Hank?"

Hank doesn't reply for a few moments, and at first Connor worries that in his desire to feel like there's nothing between them, to enjoy the game, he's pushed too hard. He stands against the wall in the dressing room, focusing on his breathing, and a notification dings in his HUD a minute later.

"Yes. Of course it's a yes."

Connor feels stupid for the grin that spread across his face, but that feels good. All of this feels good. It feels like something Connor wants to try to keep, if only he knew how.

"Thank you for your authorization :)," he writes back, and he thinks that's probably the end of it. Hank is at work, after all. He starts to slip the strap of the bodysuit from his shoulder, but another message from Hank appears in his peripheral as he does.

"Hey, Con?" it says. "You look really good."

And Connor doesn't know how to describe what happens to him then beyond saying that he melts, sinking back against the wall and laughing softly for no reason at all, his thirium pump stuttering in his chest like it does as in response to stress, only it's just that he's so overwhelmingly happy.

He sends a smiley face back, because it's the best he can do to convey it, even if it's nowhere close at all.

"I'll see you when you get home, Hank," he adds.

Connor adds the lingerie into the pile of clothes he buys, and he's not used to passively smiling, but he does the entire way home.

Connor has somehow managed to spend most of the way shopping, so he lets Sumo out when he gets back to Hank's house, and then sets the steak out on the counter to bring it to room-temperature since Hank should be home within the hour.

And then he does something stupid, since that's just what he's doing today. He goes back to Hank's bedroom with his bags, and he puts the bodysuit back on, and he thinks about letting Hank come home and find him like that, on his bed. He thinks about what would happen, about the way Hank's pupils would blow wide when he came in and saw him, about Hank's weight shifting the bed, Hank's hand on his neck while Connor pulls him down and kisses him. He thinks about finishing what they started that morning...

A notification pops up in Connor's HUD, a request for a direct connection. He recognizes North's model number and sits bolt upright. She and Simon are supposed to be at the apartment picking up the android hiding there, and they almost never call when they’re outside Jericho, not unless something is wrong. Dread settles in his gut as he accepts the connection.

"North," he says. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," North answers. She's breathing hard to cool her systems - they've been running. "Simon and I went to that apartment, from the tip you sent us...the cops were there. The other android, Rupert...he's dead."

"Fuck," Connor mutters.

"Con," she says. "Hank was there. He got shot."

Connor already knows worrying about Hank feels different, worse, than worrying about anything else. Being afraid for him, though...that’s something else entirely, unlike anything Connor has ever known. He’s never been so afraid.

"It's not his case," he says dumbly, like that makes any difference. "It's Reed's and Miller's." Connor never sends them tips about Hank's cases anymore for this exact reason.

"I don't know," North says. "One of them had today off, maybe. They shot first."

"They? Hank did?"

"No. His partner. But we didn't have a choice."

Connor sinks back onto the bed, dropping his head to his hands. "How bad was it? Is he okay?"

"I don't know. I couldn't tell."

Connor's hand is shaking when he pushes it through his hair. "You're both okay? You got out okay?"

"Yeah. We're alright."

"Okay. Can you send me your visual records of it?"

"Of Hank getting shot?"

"Please. I'm glad you're safe."

Connor severs the connection then so he can devote his attention to the GPS location of Hank's phone. It won't tell him anything about Hank's condition, but it makes him feel better, more connected to him, to keep an eye on it anyway.

The visual files from North come through a moment later, and Connor analyzes every last second of them - North and Simon coming through the door with Rupert, seeing Hank there with Detective Reed, Hank trying to stop Reed while he fired and hit Rupert.

North was already turning to run when Simon fired into the apartment, which makes the footage blurry. Connor sees Hank get hit, but there isn't a good visual of it to assess the damage. It's his left shoulder, but it could be as simple as muscle damage or lower, near his heart...

He's getting ready to call emergency services, just in case Hank can't, when a message comes through from Hank. "Hey,” it says. “I'm sorry, I'm going to be late. I'm not sure how long."

Connor is relieved to hear from him - it's better than silence, but the message does nothing to help him know how bad it is. "Is everything okay?" he asks immediately.

"Yeah. Something just came up, baby."

Connor is starting to do something stupid, typing out, "Promise nothing is wrong," as if it's something Hank won't question, something he would say at all if he didn't somehow know Hank was lying to him.

He deletes it immediately, tries to think of something better.

But there's nothing, at least nothing that Hank won't think something of, so finally Connor just says, "Okay."

"Are you okay?" Hank asks, which is good. He's thinking clearly, in decent enough condition to carry out a conversation.

"I'm okay," Connor answers, blinking back the tears pricking his eyes.

"I need to go, okay? Sorry...I'll see you when I get home."

"Let me know if you need anything, Hank."

Connor hacks the traffic cameras near the apartment, trying to find the ambulance on its approach. When he does, it's still a few blocks out.

So Connor texts Hank again. "Fish or steak for dinner?" He was going to make the steak, but that hardly matters now.

_Keep talking to me _, he thinks.

"Surprise me," Hank writes back.

Good. Connor takes a deep breath, manually adjusts the settings on his regulator as his thirium pump races. "Steak is faster," he writes. He sends it, but then he adds, "I miss you."

He does, so much. Connor thinks about losing Hank somehow, about all the things he didn't, couldn't, say. The least he can do is say this.

Connor is watching the paramedics unloading from the autonomous ambulance on the traffic camera across the street from the apartment when Hank writes back, "I miss you too, Con."

Connor watches until they disappear inside the apartment, and then he moves. He pulls his uniform back on without bothering to take the lingerie off, even if it only saves him a few minutes. He calls a cab while he puts food down for Sumo and tosses the steak back into the fridge, and it's waiting for him in the driveway by the time he's done.

Connor doesn't know why he goes to the hospital before Hank calls him. It's not like he can go in. He sits in the cab in the parking lot, his head leaned against the window, staring at the hospital as if he'll see Hank inside somehow.

If he's in surgery it could be hours before Hank calls.

It isn't hours, though, which is good. Best case scenario, even. Connor picks up Hank's call on the first ring. "Hey," Hank says before he can say anything. “Don’t freak out, but can you come down to the hospital?”

"What happened?" Connor asks. It would be strange if he didn't ask.

Hank explains all of it, and Connor sits there listening to it, to Hank recounting the confrontation without any idea that Simon and North are some of the only family Connor has. Tears well in his eyes again, and Connor is so distracted by disabling the function that he doesn't realize Hank has stopped speaking.

"Con?" Hank finally says.

"I'll be right there," Connor says quickly. "I'm glad you're okay."

It should take him at least twenty-five minutes to get to the hospital from Hank's house. Connor sits in the parking lot, trying to wait.

He hardly makes it twenty before he's walking inside.

It’s a long walk up to Hank’s room, and it gives Connor plenty of time to think, too much.

He thinks about the ridiculous bodysuit he’s wearing under his uniform, and how he was so certain it was a good idea earlier this evening. He thinks about Hank and Simon and North in the same room, on opposite sides of it, on opposite sides of all of this.

He thinks that he doesn’t know how to choose, that it’s a problem that he can’t, because he _should _choose Jericho. He doesn’t know how to protect both Hank and his family.

He thinks that he’s lost sight of things, maybe, that he’s been too close to Hank for too long and forgotten his place in this world, that he’s buying into his own ruse just as much as Hank is.

Connor thinks that he should end this.

It would be easier for both of them, for Hank and for him and even for Jericho in the long run. He should go back to the freighter and tell Markus that he’s done what he can but he’s compromised and he needs to get out.

Connor climbs the stairs, and he tries to decide the best way to leave. He doesn’t want to go without saying goodbye, but he also doesn’t know what to say, so maybe slipping into the night is best.

It was the original plan, after all. It was the way this was always supposed to end.

Connor just wants to be good for Hank, but if he can’t be, this has to be best, for both of them.

He finds Hank’s room then, sees him sitting up in bed through the open door. It’s the smile Hank gives him that does it, the way his face lights up and he looks at Connor like he’s done something incredible just by being here. It’s the way he held that android back from destroying himself, the way he protected him.

It’s that he didn’t shoot North and Simon, and he could have.

Connor doesn’t know if he’s good for Hank, but Hank is good to him, without even knowing exactly how.

“Hey,” Hank starts, but Connor strides around the bed and pulls the curtain shut, sitting on the edge of the mattress and laying over Hank’s chest and kissing him.

Connor feels Hank’s pulse picking up under his hand, and he thinks that they can’t be on opposite sides of this, not really, not when they’re so much the same, not when Hank didn’t shoot. He only thinks about how far the distance between them is when they aren’t together.

When they are...when they are, Connor loses track of that distance. He can’t see it at all.

He feels Hank’s hand on his face, fingers carding through his hair, and he strokes a thumb over Hank’s cheek as he pulls away from him.

“I’m sorry,” Connor breathes while Hank says, “I’m okay.”

Connor _is _sorry. He’s sorry for coming in here and throwing himself at Hank this way, except of course he isn’t really, only that they could have been seen. He’s sorry that there’s so much Hank doesn’t know.

But Hank didn’t shoot. He didn’t shoot, and Connor knows Hank cares about him, so maybe there’s another way out, one for the two of them together.

He’ll has to cling to that, because he just doesn’t have it in him to go.

Hank looks confused, reaching for Connor’s hand. “What? Why?”

“For coming in here like that,” Connor says, shrugging, even if he isn’t sorry for kissing him at all.

Hank runs his fingers through Connor’s hair. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Connor’s thirium pump stutters in his chest at that, at his blind acceptance of all of this. He doesn’t know how to explain what happens to him when Hank touches him or wants him or doesn’t give a shit that Connor is plainly off his programming.

He wonders if Hank can feel it instead where Connor lies against him, Connor’s heart beating against his.

He hopes he can.

Connor could stay there for much longer, if only because he's so grateful to feel that Hank is alive under his hand. He wants to tell Hank he's glad he’s here, glad he didn't lose him, except there are footsteps in the hallway outside, so Connor reluctantly swings himself off the bed. He's just pushing the curtain open when the doctor walks in.

Connor can tell Hank isn't listening to her. Hank keeps looking at him while Connor carefully schools his face and records her instructions. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his expression neutral, if only because he likes that Hank looks at him like he's the most important thing in the room.

It's clear Hank is shaken, too. He kisses Connor in the bathroom while Connor helps him get dressed like he's afraid of losing him, and Connor feels like this keeps happening, that they keep somehow ending up on the same page even if they aren't reading from the same book.

Connor spends the cab ride home thinking about how he gets Hank out of this, working the problem over.

Hank notices, of course. "Your light, baby," he says at some point. "You okay?"

"Yes," Connor says. "I was just worried about you."

They're already sitting close together, but Connor leans his head against Hank's shoulder anyway. Hank doesn't have an LED, but Connor can see him thinking, can feel the tension in his body to know he might as well be spinning yellow, too.

Connor doesn't have to wait long - the nice thing about Hank is that he says what he's thinking. Or at least, he does with Connor. They're barely inside Hank's house when Hank says, "There are errors in your programming, aren't there?"

And Connor wasn't planning to confront this head-on tonight, but maybe it's for the best that they do, that they at least see each other clearly on this before they go any further.

"If there were," he says, "what would you do?" He wants to believe he knows, but he needs Hank to say it.

"It's not about me."

But Connor needs to hear it. He _needs _to. If Hank will just say it, they can certainly figure out the rest. "I'm supposed to report all errors to CyberLife," he presses. "I'm your android. Is that what you want me to do?"

"No," Hank says softly. "No, that's not what I want you to do."

There's a chance Connor should just let well enough alone. Hank is a cop explicitly telling him to break the law so Connor will be safe, but Connor keeps thinking about North and Simon, too. He wants to ask Hank why he didn't shoot, but since he can't, he says, "Even after today, with those other deviants?"

"Yeah, I mean...that wasn't you."

It could have been. In a different world, one where they followed through with their original plans and North was delivered to Hank's house instead, it could have easily been Connor in that apartment.

"What if I hurt you?" Connor asks. "What if the errors are too much, and I snap, and I hurt you?"

_What if I already have _, he doesn't ask.

Hank doesn't say anything. Instead, he walks over to Connor and pull him into his arms, and Connor goes willingly, letting Hank hold him up.

"You won't," Hank whispers as he leans his cheek against the top of Connor's head. "I know shit is scary right now, but we'll figure it out, okay? I've got you. Just...don't report it."

And it's not a resolution or a way out of what Connor's done, not yet, but it is a start. If Hank is willing to protect him, to shield him, to know he's deviant and love him anyway, then there's some kind of chance.

_We'll figure it out _, Hank said. _We _. Like they're in this together.

He won’t tonight, but Connor thinks again about telling him the whole truth, and it doesn't feel nearly so far out of reach.

"Okay," he whispers. He's crying, but he doesn't shut off the function when he kisses him - he just lets Hank see.

"Okay," Hank agrees, his breath rustling Connor's hair when he speaks. "Come on. Let's go to bed."

Connor made the assumption that they slept together now, but he still likes hearing the invitation from Hank's mouth. "I'll be right there," he says. "I need to let Sumo out."

He needs to check in with Jericho, too, at least to let them know that Hank will be off work for the next few days to recover and that he won't be as accessible. Hank squeezes the back of his neck and kisses his hair before walking down the hall.

Connor watches him go with a small smile on his face before he claps his hand on his hip to get Sumo's attention. He steps outside to call North, even if he doesn't intend to speak to her out loud. She accepts the connection almost immediately.

"Hi," Connor says when she does. "Did you and Simon get back okay?"

"Yeah," North says. "How's Hank?"

Connor wonders if she knows about him and Hank even without them interfacing recently. She might. Of everyone in Jericho, North can always read him the best.

"He's okay," Connor says. "Minimal damage. He's off for the next four days, though, so I'll need to lay low."

"Hm. I'm sure you don't mind, do you?" She says it so neutrally that Connor doesn't think she's angry, and he shouldn't be surprised that she has her own suspicions. He was none too subtle with his fear when she told him Hank was shot, after all. She has to know Connor cares about him, even if she doesn't yet know in what way.

"North," Connor says, "he's one of the good ones. I know he is."

He doesn't tell her about Hank asking him not to report the errors in his programming to CyberLife, about Hank wanting to keep him safe regardless of what he is, but he also knows North trusts his judgment and that she won't ask him for proof.

It's quiet on the other end of the connection for a moment, and when North speaks again, it's to say, "Markus wants to rob the gun store soon. If Hank's off for a few days, maybe it's a good time for you to get us his badge."

Connor leans back against the side of the house and watches Sumo nosing around in the grass. He hasn't forgotten about that part of this plan, but the closer he and Hank get, the less he likes it.

"Con?" North says when he's silent on the other end.

"Yeah, sorry," he answers. "I'll get it for you, but I don't want him involved in our shit anymore after this, okay? And whoever goes, make sure the owner doesn't get Hank's badge number."

"Okay."

"North. Promise me."

"Yeah, okay. I promise. Fuck, you have it bad, don't you?"

Sumo trots back to him then, so Connor pointedly says, "Goodnight, North. I'll talk to you later," before severing the connection.

Sumo pads over to his bed once they're back inside, and Connor pets him on the head once before going back to Hank's bedroom.

Hank is sitting on the edge of the bed, poking through the bags of clothes Connor has practically forgotten about since earlier that day. Connor doesn't entirely know how Hank does it, how everything he does makes him warm inside, and he doesn't think he'll ever figure it out.

"You're not supposed to look until I show you," he complains good-naturedly.

"Sorry," Hank says, smiling and nodding towards his spare closet. "That can be yours, if you want."

Having a space for his things in Hank's house is more compelling than it should be. Connor doesn't know how to explain it, that he knows what it means for Hank to offer him the closet where he's kept all the memories he can't let go of and that it matters to him, so instead he goes to Hank and climbs into his lap, putting his hands on his face and kissing him.

"I'd like that," he says, smiling when Hank wraps his arms around his waist and holds him close.

And fuck, he really does have it bad.

"Connor," Hank says while Connor kisses him, tasting and exploring him in the way he didn't have time to that morning. "Are you happy here?"

And Connor is torn in that moment, because he likes that Hank is asking, but he also isn't interested in distractions at the moment.

"Yes," he says, even if he would rather steal the words from Hank's mouth by kissing him instead. He understands why Hank has to ask, knows that Hank is too good to do anything else.

"Would you tell me if you weren't?"

_I sent myself here _, Connor wants to say, and he will, another time. Tonight, he just says, "Hank. I like being with you."

It's true. It's so true. Connor unfastens the top button of Hank's shirt, slipping a hand underneath to feel his skin. "Does your shoulder hurt too much?"

He pitches his voice low so Hank can't mistake his meaning, and Connor knows he hasn't when he immediately says, "It's okay."

Connor has never felt so wanted before, so much so that he's only now realizing how important it is to him, how he's been desperately chasing approval since the day CyberLife pulled his model from R&D and decommissioned him, from the moment he woke up in the recycling plant unable to breathe.

And it shouldn't surprise him, probably. That was the whole problem with the RK800 model. CyberLife made the line too empathetic, too eager to please, so much so that it kept proving dangerous and unpredictable in R&D. Connor has heard rumors that they backed some of his sophisticated social protocols out of the RK900 model currently in development, all because Connor kept feeling too much, wanting so badly to be good.

He likes that Hank wants him without knowing anything about his advanced design or exactly how much he cost CyberLife to build. He likes that Hank thinks he's a run-of-the-mill domestic android and that he still thinks he's remarkable.

He likes that Hank sees things in him that Connor has never been able to see in himself.

It matters because it's Hank, because Connor thinks Hank is remarkable, too, even if he knows Hank has lost sight of it, if he ever saw it at all.

And Connor wants, more than anything, to remind him.

He works a few more of Hank's buttons undone, kisses him and whispers, "I'll be gentle," against his mouth.

Connor pushes Hank's shirt from his shoulders, pulls the t-shirt underneath over his head and presses him back to lie on the bed.

He wants so much from Hank. He wants to let Hank pin him down, even if he doesn't think he would like that from anyone else. He wants to let Hank take him apart.

And, just as badly, he wants to test Hank's resolve, to string him along the edge and then pull him back. He wants to explore every inch of him, to fuck into him, to hear Hank beg him.

Connor doesn't know what exactly he likes, but he thinks with Hank he might like anything.

But all of that is for another time. A time when Hank isn't hurt, when Connor has told him the whole truth.

For tonight, Connor sets about trying to remind Hank that he deserves so much more than what life has dealt him. He can't heal him - he knows that - but he wishes he could take some of this pain from him.

And he knows Hank's pain, for the most part, isn't physical, but he finds every last scar on his body anyway and kisses over them like his skin hasn't already knit itself back together, like he can go back and fix any of them, if only because he wants to so badly.

And Connor thinks Hank's body is incredible, resilient in a different way than his own. He thinks it's amazing that for everything he's suffered, for all the ways he's struggled under the load he's been forced to carry, Hank is still here, his heart beating hard and fast and strong under Connor's hand.

Connor takes Hank's hand and puts it on his thirium pump, and he wishes Hank knew that Connor might have been delivered in a clean CyberLife box, but that they've both survived so much just to be here together.

When Hank moans underneath him, Connor kisses him, quietly in awe of the sound, that he could cause it.

"Fuck, baby," Hank groans, and Connor can't help the tender way he takes Hank's hands or kisses his forehead.

He loves that Hank tries, that at his heart, Hank believes too much in what's good to do anything other than continue on in spite of the hand he's been dealt.

He loves that Hank is beautiful, and strong.

He loves even more that Hank is so weak for him.

Connor doesn't remember until Hank reaches for his tie and starts unbuttoning Connor's shirt that he's still wearing that ridiculous bodysuit underneath his uniform. He isn't sure why it throws him, either - the only reason he had it on in the first place was to be wearing it when Hank got home. But that was on his terms, he supposes, laid out on Hank's bed and accessing the HR400 protocols to figure out what the hell to do with his body to look softer and less stupid in it. (Because he is convinced he looks stupid, even if Hank seems to like it well enough.)

Hank still doesn't get the memo that Connor feels terribly uncertain of himself, though, not if the way his pupils blow wide at the sight of the lace under Connor's shirt is any indication.

"I thought this was a birthday present," Hank says, hooking a finger under the strap of the bodysuit and pulling Connor down to him.

And Connor honestly isn't trying to preen, but he does like the way Hank looks at him. "I was going to surprise you when you got home," he says, "but then I didn't have a chance to change before I went to the hospital." Hank tries to reach for him again, but Connor catches him by the wrists and presses him firmly back into the bed. "Don't tell me you're going to be late when you mean you've been shot again," he says, knowing all the while how hypocritical it is of him to ask Hank not to lie to him. He can't help it. He doesn't want to be afraid for Hank, to pace the room trying to figure out if Hank is on the brink of death or not, ever again. He didn't like it.

And Hank is all too agreeable. "I won't," he says, tugging against Connor's hold on his wrists. When Connor lets him go, he reaches up and catches a hand in his hair, pulling Connor's forehead to his. "I won't, baby."

Connor already liked the name when he was reading it, and he liked it even more when he heard Hank say it, but he thinks he likes this most of all, when it's whispered between them like a promise.

"I know," Connor says, rolling his hips against Hank's to appreciate the groan it pulls from him.

"Connor," Hank whispers, sounding strung out and so desperate that Connor can hardly believe he's the cause of it.

"I know," he promises, because he feels desperate, too. "I know, Hank."

Connor works Hank's pants over his hips, and he could spend another half hour mapping his skin here, too, except that he can tell Hank's patience is worn thin, and so is his. So he pulls away, slipping out of his uniform and meaning to remove the bodysuit, too, until Hank catches him by the arm and says, "Come here."

He pulls Connor onto his back, and Connor lets himself be led, touched, looked at. And Hank does look at him, even if Connor is designed to blend in, to be pretty in a sort of unremarkable way. People don't usually look at Connor - they look at the uniform, at the LED, and not much further, and Connor tends to like things that way. He doesn't like being noticed, doesn't care for attention. The last time there was any sort of attention on him, Connor failed R&D and ended up in a recycling plant, his thirium pump regulator removed, struggling to breathe...

He doesn't like attention, but that's all Hank pays him now, looking at him like he's trying to make up for lost time since he never has before, not like this.

And Connor likes the way this feels, he decides. Hank's weight at his side, and Hank's careful hands on him, and Hank being so close that Connor can see how clear and blue his eyes are. He likes Hank's hand on the metal circle of his thirium pump regulator even if it reminds him of being strung up in that machine, put together and taken apart and put together again.

He likes Hank being close enough to hurt him, if only because Connor knows he won't, that he never would.

It's embarrassing, or it should be, the needy whine Connor can't contain when Hank reaches between his legs and presses the heel of his hand into his cock, but Connor is much too far gone to care at this point, even if he had planned to be the one taking care of Hank tonight.

And Connor does like the expression on Hank's face when he makes the noise, thinks it looks like something akin to awe, that it's so similar to the way the CyberLife developers would look at him and so entirely different all at once, like Connor is doing something remarkable just by so closely replicating sensation or pleasure or humanity.

That's the difference, Connor supposes. He doesn't think Hank thinks he's replicating anything.

And he isn't. He can, when he needs to, but in this moment, he isn't. It's all real. And Connor hasn't known much that's real in his short life, but this is.

He's a mess by the time Hank finally helps him out of the bodysuit, hard and aching and ready to come apart, and it's only through a concerted effort on his part (and the reluctant decision to briefly turn down his pressure sensors) that Connor is able to take control of the situation back, pushing Hank back onto the bed and ridding him of his boxers.

And hell, Connor could turn his sensors down all the way and look at Hank for the next hour, just look at him, and still not feel satisfied, but that's a task for another time, when they aren't both so tired of waiting when they've already waited so long.

Connor wraps a hand around Hank's cock and gives him a few slow pumps while Hank surprises him by reaching around and touching him, slipping his fingers into him and pulling a moan out of his mouth. It's overwhelming, even with his sensors turned down, but the most overwhelming thing about all of this is the way Hank says, "Baby," like he's forgotten every other word, like he doesn't know anything other than Connor, like it's a prayer even if Connor knows Hank doesn't pray to anything anymore.

He says it like he's willing to hope for something, like Connor is too, and Connor sinks onto him because the alternative, for all the ways Connor finds himself overwhelmed here, is to cling to him, to collapse into him and use Hank to hold him up instead.

And Connor could sit against him for far longer than he does, wonders if he would ever grow tired of or get used to the way Hank feels inside him, but Hank reaches for him and touches his belly, rolling his hips into Connor's underneath him, and Connor moves because Hank does, because they move together.

When Hank wraps a hand around him, stroking him, Connor turns his sensors back to their normal settings, even a touch higher so he can feel the heat of Hank's hand, the texture of his skin.

And Connor comes so easily from that a few moments later, maybe easier than an intimacy model should, but not before he reaches for Hank's hand and laces their fingers together.

He folds, collapsing into Hank and kissing him. The things he whispers against Hank's skin - "Come inside me, come inside me, I want you to..." - are typical intimacy model fare, the begging and the desperation, but Connor has only ever let those scripts run passively, and he means it so genuinely, wants it so badly…

Hank spills inside him then, and Connor kisses him through it, bringing his hands up to touch Hank's face and his hair and his beard. He kisses his cheeks and his eyelids and Hank winds his arms tight around him, holding him close.

Connor isn't tired, but he knows Hank is, so he pulls away much sooner than he might like to, going across the hall for a wet washcloth and running it over Hank's body and then his when he returns.

It's only then that Connor realizes his synth-skin has receded on his hips, under Hank's touch. He didn’t know that was something that could happen. It’s receded before, but that was in R&D, a response to being hit too hard. He didn’t know anything other than pain could cause it, and that’s a hint remarkable in its own way, that he’s learned so much about himself through Hank.

Connor doesn't know if Hank will let him hold him, but when he wraps his arms around Hank's shoulders and runs a hand through his hair, Hank just sags into him, boneless and peaceful. Connor kisses his forehead, shivers when Hank traces a finger over his exposed chassis. It’s more sensitive without the synth-skin between them, and he can plainly feel every ridge of Hank’s fingerprints.

He makes sure Hank's weight isn't on his bad shoulder, and then he goes still at Hank's side so he won't keep him up, lowering his body temperature a few degrees for Hank's comfort. His thirium pump is running hard, thudding in his chest, so Connor manually adjusts the speed of his regulator again to compensate.

He doesn't realize until afterwards, after Hank is asleep against him, that he set it to match Hank's.

* * *

Connor never does go into stasis through the night - he doesn't need to, not after just spending hours in stasis at Hank's side the previous evening. He's entirely still, though, afraid he'll wake Hank up if he isn't.

And he likes watching Hank sleep, he's discovering. Some of that is because androids don't sleep, at least not in the same way, and so he finds it objectively interesting, Hank's breathing patterns, his gentle snoring, the restless way he shifts when he's dreaming. Androids don't do any of that.

Some of it, of course, is just because Hank looks more at ease when he's asleep, more peaceful.

And if Connor has fifty pictures in his memory of Hank asleep beside him this morning...well. He'll never tell.

Hank didn't set an alarm, so Connor waits as long as he can before he gets up to let Sumo out. He tries not to disturb Hank, but he also knows from months of listening carefully to Hank tossing and turning from his place in the living room that Hank is a light sleeper. Connor shifts, trying to roll Hank off of him far enough that he can slip out from between the sheets, but Hank catches an arm around him, pulling Connor back into him and kissing his neck.

And Connor liked last night, but he decides then that he likes this morning better.

"Stay," Hank says, and he sounds so petulant for once that Connor finds it endearing. Hank has spent most of their time together trying to ask Connor for as little as possible - Connor can count on one hand the number of times Hank has directly made a request of him, but he likes when Hank tells him what he wants. Connor knows Hank well enough that he can always guess, but he likes knowing better.

And the truth of it is that Connor could easily pull himself from Hank's grip, but he makes a show of it before he squirms free.

Most of the fun is in the game, after all.

"Sumo needs to go out," Connor says, retrieving Hank's t-shirt from the floor and pulling it over his head. It only just covers the curve of his ass, but Connor supposes they're past modesty here. "I'll come back when he's done."

Sumo is waiting for him in the hallway, trotting after him when Connor walks him outside. He usually takes a while in the morning, mostly because he just likes being in the yard when the air is still so cool, so Connor looks around the kitchen while he waits. He'd like to make Hank something for breakfast, because it's late and he should eat something, but he suspects Hank will make a fuss about it if he does.

Hank's badge is on the kitchen table, thrown there haphazardly with the rest of his things from last night. Connor picks it up, looks it over, thinks about calling Markus and telling him they need to find another way to arm Jericho than robbing the gun store, or just do without the weapons.

But that would be selfish, and Connor might be many things, but selfish isn't one of them.

With a sigh, he walks the badge outside, lifting the planter by the door and hiding it underneath.

He sends North and Markus a message with the location, and tells them he'll let them know when he and Hank are out of the house later.

Sumo comes trotting over to him, sitting at his side, and Connor wraps his arms around the dog before beckoning him inside. Sometimes Connor tells himself that Sumo wouldn't care if he knew Connor was from Jericho, not in the way Hank might. It doesn't always help, but this morning it does.

He brings Hank's pain medicine from the hospital and a bottle of water back to the bedroom, and then he tucks himself back in at Hank's side.

Hank holds him this time, and Connor doesn't mind.

Connor and Hank have spent Hank's days off together before, so Connor knows he enjoys them. The four days Hank has off to recover are different, though.

Connor is the one who suggests Hank come with him when he takes Sumo to the dog park that afternoon, because of course he needs to get Hank out of the house long enough for North to retrieve his badge. But the other things they do - grocery shopping together, going to see a movie, walking through Hank's neighborhood in the evenings...those are all Hank's ideas.

It occurs to Connor on the third day, when he's lying across the couch with his head in Hank's lap, what Hank's thought process is. "Hank," he says when it clicks into place, "are we dating?"

Hank laughs outright at that. "I think we might be past that."

Connor chews his lower lip in thought. "Hm. I thought some of the things we've done these last few days might have been dates."

"I mean, yeah. I just think we're past 'dating'. Teenagers date, and people who don't know each other."

"Oh." Connor turns his attention back to the show they're watching, although it isn't more than a few minutes before his curiosity gets the better of him. "What are we, then?"

"I don't know," Hank says, ruffling Connor's hair. "I guess we're partners."

And oh, Connor likes that. He really likes that.

Connor knows he should tell Hank the truth. He spends those four days looking for a window, keeps telling himself he hasn't found the right one yet, even though he thinks that's mostly just because he doesn't want to disturb something so good.

It's a hard thing to explain, a tendency on his part that Connor knows is entirely illogical. He knows, after all, that this can't be really, truly his until Hank knows the truth about everything and wants him anyway.

But he's had so little in the months since his activation.

He wants to keep this, wants everything to stay the same. He thinks about losing Hank and feels his thirium pump stuttering in his chest, a malfunctioning stress response to no adverse external stimuli whatsoever. It's the realest fear Connor has ever known.

So he does something terribly human, something the CyberLife programmers who built him would probably marvel to see if only they could.

He ignores it. He pretends. He tries to prolong a good thing because it's the only good thing he's ever had.

Connor lies in bed with Hank on his last night off, and he lets the perfect opportunity Hank presents him with pass him by.

"If I retired," Hank says, "if I took out my pension, and got another job with regular hours, or if I just stayed here with you...would you like that?”

And Connor would like that, so much, but it wouldn’t be enough. He should just tell Hank why it wouldn’t be enough, why it won't satisfy what Hank is looking for any more than what Connor wants.

"I like the way things are," Connor says, testing the waters.

"I know, baby. I do, too. But maybe they could be better."

Connor props himself up on Hank's chest, looking at him, memorizing the lines on his face all over again. "It won't give you what you want."

Hank looks at him with confusion on his face. "What do you think I want?"

Connor tells him, because he's sure at this point that they want the same thing. "For me not to be an android," he says. "Not because you don’t like that I am, but just because you’ll want more than you can have with an android partner after a while. If we had more time together, it would be nice, but it wouldn’t change that we could never travel outside the country together, or that I’ll never be able to work, or that you’ll always own me. And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Connor tries to say it like he hasn't spent months contemplating the problem. "I want what you do," he tells Hank. "But this isn't how we get it."

"How, then?" Hank asks, and Connor knows he should tell him, that he won't have a better opportunity. He knows he's running out of time in so many ways. Markus' revolution is gaining pace, the RK900 line is reportedly near the end of development - Connor's face model is unique now, but it won't be when his upgraded model is released for military and police use. Connor knows he doesn't have time.

But Hank is warm beside him, and Connor loves him too much to say, and he just wants to stay here, just wants one more night of the way things are before he blows this apart.

So he doesn't say anything. He tucks himself in at Hank's side, and Hank says, "I just want you to be happy, okay?"

"I am," Connor tells him.

He doesn't say anything else. Hank falls asleep, and Connor stays awake listening to him breathing, and he knows there's nothing he can do to stop this falling apart.

Connor says goodbye to Hank the next morning when he leaves for work, and he sends him a real picture from that day of him and Sumo at the dog park. It's the same routine they've had for months, something so familiar. It's almost enough for Connor to trick himself into thinking if they just continue with this same pattern, things will be fine.

But things aren't fine. Everything is slowly unraveling, coming together, coming apart.

And when Connor goes to Jericho after the dog park, it becomes clear that he's out of time.

Connor knows something is wrong from the moment he walks in. Markus isn't always easy for them to read, not even for Connor, but today Connor only has to take one look at his mouth set in a hard line to know that something has happened.

"Hey, Con," North says when she sees him, reaching out to grasp him by the arm. Her tone is soft, like she's already trying to comfort him.

Connor looks to Josh and Simon, but there isn't much reassurance to be found on their faces, either.

"What's happening?" Connor asks.

"CyberLife moved up the release of the RK900 unit," Markus says. "It's supposed to be deployed next week as a response to the deviancy crisis."

Connor's mouth goes dry. "To hunt us down," he says, understanding. It isn't a question - he knows what he was designed for.

He knows too that, if everything they've heard about the RK900 is true, it's a far more ruthless android than Connor ever would have been. CyberLife's R&D team was always so afraid that Connor was too empathetic, that it would make him manipulative, too good at getting what he wanted for anyone's comfort.

(Connor wishes he felt that way about himself sometimes, that he ever felt like he had anything he wanted without some sort of string attached. He never gets the things he wants, not really.)

"Yeah," Markus says, scrubbing a hand over his face. "To hunt us down. Our source at the CyberLife plant says they're shipping one out to the FBI agent who’s going to take the case from the DPD."

The RK900 has Connor's face model, with some slight modifications, or so they've been told by the deviant CyberLife tech who funnels them information when she can.

Connor's face model, walking around the DPD, working with Hank...Connor can't vomit, but he feels sick anyway, even if he's always known this was a possibility.

"Connor," Markus says, "we need to pull you back. Today. It's safest if you don't go back to the lieutenant's house."

Connor thinks about Hank coming home from work, about him just...not being there. He can't do it. "I have to go back," he says.

"Look," Markus says, "things are going to get messy very soon here. If CyberLife is deploying an army of hunters to track us down, we need enough people to stand against them. We have to move forward with raiding the CyberLife stores tomorrow."

The CyberLife raid wasn't supposed to happen for another few weeks, but that was back when they thought they had more time. It will be treated like an act of violence, an open protest, no matter how peaceful they are in doing it. Connor thought he would have more time to tell Hank the truth, to make him see clearly before this happened, before it shaped Hank’s perception of them.

It's almost certain that they won't do it without a run-in with the police.

"I don't want Hank involved in this," Connor says, clenching his fists at his sides. "I think he would help us if I had more time to make him understand..."

Markus furrows his brow. "Connor. They’ll just call the federal agents in that much sooner once we do this. Having a contact in the DPD won't do us any good, even if he would help."

"He already got shot once just because he was caught in the crossfire."

Connor doesn't mean it to be an accusation, but he's wound tight, and it comes out with enough of an edge that Simon says, "They shot first. We didn't have any choice."

"His partner did," Connor says, even if they're so far past the point where it matters to parse these details. It only matters to him because Hank matters to him.

Markus looks between the two of them, and then over his shoulder at Josh, like he's asking him a question. Markus loves Josh, listens to him, maybe more than any of the rest of them.

"You know we don't want good people hurt because of this," Josh says to Connor, "but we can't just lie down and wait for them to destroy us."

"Listen," Markus says, "if you don't want the lieutenant caught up in it, then find a way to keep him away from work tomorrow night. You can have another day, and you can try to keep him out of this, but after that, we can't risk it any further. You'll have to come back to Jericho." Markus gets up, crossing the room and laying a hand on Connor's shoulder. "You know we can't stop this, Connor," he says. “It's bigger than you or me or any of us."

Connor knows that's true. He doesn't have any interest in arguing that point.

And Connor can distract Hank. He knows how to be a distraction.

He's never felt manipulative, but maybe in this instance, he's exactly what CyberLife designed him to be. Maybe for once, his programming will be something for him beyond a burden.

Telling Hank the truth will have to wait, a priority for later, or maybe just a pipe dream with the way things are shaping up.

For now, Connor just wants to keep him out of the fray.

Hank doesn't mention anything about the gun store robbery to Connor that evening, although Connor knows that’s certainly most of what occupied his work day. They don't talk about work at all, and though Connor is always naturally curious about the DPD given his designed purpose, even beyond the benefit of the information to Jericho, he doesn't mind.

Everything is normal, or so Hank thinks. He doesn't know that Connor doesn't go into stasis that night, that he sits awake on his side of the bed looking at his clothes in Hank's closet and listening to Sumo snoring in the hall and watching Hank sleep beside him.

He grieves it all now, just in case he loses it, because he needs to be at his best tomorrow.

It's Hank's birthday, too. Connor really fucking hates that he needs to play distraction on Hank's birthday. He genuinely wanted to enjoy it, and now it's going to be tainted with his deception.

Hank doesn't wake through the night. He hasn’t more than once since Connor started coming to bed with him. He sleeps better with Connor there, Connor knows. Tears well in Connor's eyes at the thought, but he wipes them away, disables the function entirely so he doesn't betray himself.

A minute before Hank's alarm goes off that morning, Connor paints his sweet smile onto his face, makes himself soft and gentle in all the ways he knows how.

He wakes Hank up by crawling astride him and kissing him. Hank thinks he's trying to say "Happy birthday," Connor feels sure, but in truth all he's thinking is that Hank could end up working late for any reason at all, like he so often does, that Connor may not even have the chance to try to keep him at home tonight.

It's not "Happy birthday." It's "Goodbye," just in case he needs to say it now.

Connor pushes that sadness aside. There's no room for it, and Hank is too good at reading Connor for him to show his hand at all.

"Remember I got you a nice dinner for your birthday," Connor says between kisses. "Try not to be late, okay?"

"I told you that you didn't have to do that, Con."

"I know. I wanted to," Connor says.

_I needed to _, he doesn't say.

"Okay," Hank says, gently rolling Connor off of him. "I'll try, baby."

Connor catches Hank before he can get out of bed, pulling him back and kissing him again. And sure, he does it with parted lips, tongue in Hank's mouth, nipping at his lower lip when he pulls back the way he knows Hank likes, because the best thing would be if Hank just called in sick to work, even if it's a long shot.

Connor gives it his best effort. But Hank just had four days off, and things are busy at work, so he isn't surprised when Hank eventually peels him off so he can get dressed, although he does kiss Connor's forehead and ruffle his hair affectionately before he goes.

Reluctantly, Connor gets up to make breakfast. He swears under his breath while he does.

He sits at the table and watches Hank eat with more fondness welling inside him than he knew he was capable of, and he reminds Hank again not to be late while he gets his coat.

Hank leaves for work on time, and Connor spends the rest of the day sitting on the couch with Sumo's head in his lap, fingers buried in the dog's fur.

He knows the day would move faster if he kept himself busy.

He sits there anyway.

It's six o'clock when Connor gets a text from Hank. "I'm on my way, baby," it says, but Connor still accesses the GPS location of Hank's phone to reassure himself that he's coming.

Connor has dinner on already, so he goes back to his closet and retrieves the party supplies he hid there. They're from a few days ago, from before this night was spoiled by his trickery, and Connor almost feels sorry for any unnecessary pomp and circumstance.

But Connor knows Hank hasn't had any kind of birthday celebration outside of work since before he lost his family, so he hangs the Happy Birthday banner in the living room anyway, and he puts a party hat on Sumo and tosses him a scrap of steak to thank him for being a good sport.

And that's how Hank finds them, Sumo sitting beside Connor in the kitchen, Connor with a sweet smile carefully drawn across his face. They paint a pretty picture, a happy one.

They have a quiet night, and a good one. Connor sits tucked into Hank's side on the couch,

Hank's arm around his shoulders, and he's quiet and content even if he does get up and fish Hank's pager out of his coat pocket when Hank gets up to go to the bathroom. He tosses it into the laundry where Hank won’t hear it.

The station will call him if he doesn't respond to the page, of course, but Hank's cell phone is in his pocket, so getting to it is a problem for later.

At midnight, half an hour before the raids are supposed to start, a message from North pings in Connor's HUD. "We're moving," she wrote.

"Okay," Connor sends back. He gets up from his place at Hank's side, goes back to the bedroom and pulls that lace bodysuit on, and the robe that goes with it. He drops himself into Hank's lap, and it isn't long before Hank caves, hoisting Connor up and carrying him back to bed.

Hank sits Connor on the mattress, kissing him on the forehead and setting his phone on the bedside table before he crosses the hall to brush his teeth.

Connor moves fast. He grabs Hank's phone, turning the sound off first and moving it to the dresser. It would be best to turn it off entirely, but Hank is on a short leash at the station still, and he's liable to lose his job if his phone goes right to voicemail when they try to call.

Connor stands there, torn, staring at the photo of the two of them and Sumo on Hank's background.

The water stops running in the bathroom, so Connor just turns the phone over so the light won't be as likely to catch Hank's attention before he flops gracelessly onto the bed where Hank left him.

He should have put the phone on silent, he knows...but he wants to protect Hank, and that means for more than tonight. He needs to keep that balance.

Connor hopes it's enough.

He pulls Hank onto him the moment he comes back from the bathroom, hitches his legs over Hank's hips, like he can hold him there if he just winds himself as thoroughly around him as he can. Hank kisses him, and Connor touches his face while Hank touches him everywhere else.

"Hank," he whispers, "I'm not supposed to love anything."

He isn't. But he does, so much.

And he can't quite say it, doesn't exactly know how to tell part of the truth without telling all of it. Nor does he want to say it now and cloud the words with his own deception.

But he wants Hank to know. He needs him to.

And Hank does.

He kisses Connor's collarbone and Connor's thirium pump stutters in his chest when Hanks says, "I know. I love you, too."

There's a sound like a sob between them, and it's only after it tears its way from his throat that Connor realizes it came from him.

The phone call comes not long after. Connor's senses are sharp, so he sees the dim light even with the phone turned towards the dresser. He wraps his arms around Hank's shoulders, draws his legs tighter around Hank's waist, kisses him and rolls his hips into his and doesn't stop.

Hank still sees it. He pulls away, and Connor curses himself even as he whines sweetly and tries to pull Hank back. Hank is looking at the phone and not at him. He doesn't see his LED spinning red, and Connor has fixed it by the time Hank kisses his forehead.

"I'm on call. I have to check this, baby."

_Fuck _, Connor thinks. _Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

His thirium pump is running too fast in his chest, even after he tries to manually adjust the pace of the regulator. It hurts. Connor sits there, watching Hank talk to Fowler, and everything burns.

He curls in on himself against the pain, trying to regulate his breathing. When Hank hangs up, he says, "Please don't go. I hate worrying about you."

He isn't faking the desperation in his voice, or how pitiful and small he looks.

"I know, baby, but that's not how it works." Hank straightens his shirt, fixes his hair in the mirror, and he gives Connor a sad smile before he leaves the bedroom.

Connor follows after him, panicking. "You were just saying you wanted to quit," he says. "Just don't go."

"If I don't go, I get fired, and if I get fired, I don't get my pension, and we're fucked," Hank says, although he does sound genuinely sorry for it. He grasps Connor by the back of the neck and kisses his forehead. "I'm sorry, okay? I promise I'll be back."

And Connor can't stop him, he knows, because Hank is stubborn the same way he is. Even if he tells him everything, he doesn't know that he'll be able to stop him, especially when they think the store raids are an act of aggression.

If anything, it will just make Hank hate him, and then he'll still lose him.

So Connor doesn't tell him the truth. He just kisses Hank hot and hard and desperate, and he says the only thing that matters.

"I love you."

"I know, baby," Hank says, thumbing Connor's tears from his cheeks. "I love you, too."

The problem with love, Connor thinks, is that he wants it to be the only thing that matters, but it also doesn't fix shit. It doesn't make him human, and it doesn't buy them the time Connor needs to make this right.

It doesn't stop Hank from leaving, either.

Connor calls North while he changes. "I couldn't stop him," he says, pulling on the jeans Hank bought him.

"Shit, Con. I'm sorry."

"Yeah," he says. "Me too. I'll meet you at the Hart Plaza store."

It's better if he's there. If he can't keep Hank out of the fray, then he can at least be there, control it, try to protect him and his family that way.

And Connor's never been the sort who can sit one out. It's his fight as much as any of theirs.

If Hank wouldn't stay, then he has to go, too.

North is almost finished deviating the androids inside the Hart Plaza store when Connor gets there. Connor has his cab let him off a few blocks away, because the police already have the area blockaded while they wait for reinforcements, and then he goes through the maintenance routes, the same way the others came from Jericho.

"Hey," North says when he joins her inside the store. Most of the newly deviated androids are standing around, staring at their surroundings, trying to understand. Connor remembers that all too well.

"You okay?" North asks, grasping Connor by the arm.

"Have to be, don't I?" he says. He doesn't mention that he has a side process running to track Hank's location, that he's acutely aware that Hank is three blocks away.

North gives him a dim smile, squeezing his hand. "Are the others okay?" Connor asks as he sets to work helping her with the android models in storage.

"All quiet, which is good," North says. Simon and Josh are across town, at a different store, and Markus is at the one a few blocks south. Connor tries to feel grateful that everything is going as smoothly as it can, but it's difficult when his own world is falling apart.

"That's the last of them," North says when they finish going through storage. She claps Connor on the shoulder. "Come on."

They have to take the time to send the message. Stealing a construction vehicle and ramming it through the glass doors of a CyberLife store will only be construed as violence by people looking in, and so they have to make it clear that they won't draw first blood, but they'll finish things if they must.

They don't have the luxury of not being clear in this moment.

They tag the bus stops, the cars, and the statue in front of the store. Slogans, symbols, they keep going until the area is painted in them.

It doesn't surprise Connor when a police vehicle comes tearing into the road North blocked with a construction sign, nor does it surprise him the way the crowd of newly deviated androids scatters. They're too new, too afraid to stand their ground, even if there are so many more of them.

They already gave them Jericho's location when they deviated - they just have to hope they make it.

"Come on!" North yells over the gunshots, grasping Connor by the arm.

They run down one of the back alleys with some of the other androids - there's a fire escape there, they can climb it and get to the roofs, and no one will be able to follow them that way.

But Connor sees the pin for Hank's phone closing in on them, too.

"Come on," Connor says through gritted teeth, cupping his hands and giving another one of the domestic models a leg up to the ladder.

They move as quickly as they can, but it isn't fast enough. He and North are still on the ground when a car pulls in behind them, headlights blazing in the dark alley.

Connor looks at Hank's GPS location, sees Hank's pin right on top of his own. So close, no distance between them, and still too much.

"Put your hands up," Connor hears Hank yell, "and turn around, slowly."

North has her gun in hand - she could turn and shoot, and Connor sees her coiled tight like maybe she wants to. He catches her eye, shakes his head imperceptibly.

"Please," he mouths.

And then he turns.

It's confusion on Hank's face first, his brow knit tight as he tries to understand. Connor can see him reasoning it through, knows he's thinking that it can't be Connor, that it's just another android that looks like him...

He sees Hank's finger tighten on the trigger. He won't shoot, Connor doesn't think, but he has to get North out of this all the same.

And there's only one way.

"Hank," he says, and fuck, he's crying, saline tears pouring down his cheeks, blurring his vision. "Please."

Connor watches all of it flood Hank's face, the recognition followed by the horror, and then the brokenness eclipsed only by what Connor feels.

Connor wants to go to him. He wants to kiss him and go home with him and explain this. He wants to talk with him until morning until Hank understands all of it.

But Hank's hand has gone slack on his gun, and there are sirens blaring closer as the other officers close in on them, and North's hand is tight on Connor's arm, pulling him along with her.

Connor looks at Hank one more time over his shoulder, and then he leaves him behind.

He and North run across the rooftops until they can't anymore, and then they pull a manhole cover aside and drop into the maintenance area underneath with a few of the other androids.

North hacks the traffic cameras, and they wait there for hours, until the police cars retreat from the plaza.

And Connor crumbles. He looks at Hank's pin on his map, looks at how they aren't even that far away from each other. He thinks about Hank going home to an empty house again.

He sinks to the ground, drawing his knees up to his chest, where his thirium pump races hard and fast in response to the stress.

They were so close. Hank was right there, and Connor was so close.

North moves through the other androids, reassuring them, but when she's spoken to all of them, she goes to Connor's side and sits beside him.

The best thing about North is that she knows when to fill the silence and when words can't fix the ache. She wraps an arm around Connor and leans her head against his, and she doesn't speak until it's clear for them to go back to Jericho.

Connor's room on the freighter is the same as he left it - his few clothes folded in the corner, the blankets on the floor. He has a few outdated flyers for lost pets on his wall - he doesn't like them, necessarily, but he likes the thought that maybe they found their way home, or that maybe they found a new one. He likes that their family cared enough about them to put up a sign, that they were wanted...that they weren't thrown in a recycling plant like he was.

He likes that someone knew they were missing, because no one at CyberLife ever even knew he was gone after they pulled him from R&D and disposed of him.

Connor wonders if Hank is home yet. He wonders if Hank knows he's missing.

He can't bring himself to check his location.

Connor lies down, and he runs a reconstruction of Hank's arms around him to try to calm his mind, and his racing thirium pump in turn, to make stasis come easier.

It doesn't help. It might feel real, but it still isn't the same.


	3. The Revolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think sometimes about meeting you any other way," Connor admits. "Maybe I would have come to work at the DPD if the revolution succeeded...maybe we would have been partners. Or maybe I would have picked you up at a bar, or at a coffee shop...I wish so badly that I had met you anywhere else, at a time when things are easier."
> 
> Hank gives a derisive snort at that. "There's no way in hell you would have picked me up if you had your choice."
> 
> Connor gives him a disapproving glance, the one he always uses in response to Hank's self-deprecation. "Hank. I would have chosen you anywhere, I think."

Hank has forgotten how much it hurts to come home to an empty house. He thought he knew how much space Connor occupied in his home and his life, that he appreciated him as much as he deserved.

He realizes now, as he sits on the couch alone, listening to Sumo snoring, that he underestimated.

He underestimated with Jen, too, and even with Cole. What Hank knows is that even when you love something the way it deserves, you'll always wish you had loved it more once it’s gone.

He doesn't sleep, even when he makes his way back to the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed, and he stares at Connor's open closet and the clothes inside.

The leather jacket is gone, of course, in case Hank wasn't already certain it was his Connor at the plaza tonight. He might have hoped otherwise, but he never had any doubts, either. Only his Connor could have said his name like that.

Connor deviated, obviously. Hank already knew that. And if that's the case, Connor did what was right by him.

Hank doesn't blame him for not being able to stay. He always knew, if Connor had the choice, he wouldn't stay.

Hank hopes he's okay, that he's safe and happy. He hopes some of what they had was real.

He thinks maybe it was.

Legally, he should report it, file a missing android record with the DPD. He doesn't.

He does try to track Connor's GPS location. He isn't surprised when he can't.

Hank is in at work first thing in the morning, if only because he didn't sleep at all the previous night. They have a few androids in holding from the previous night, but they're all newly freed. None of them are from the resistance, and so they don't know much. They're new, and afraid, and one of them already tried to self-destruct. Interrogation hasn't gotten them anywhere.

And it doesn't matter anyway. It isn't much past nine in the morning when Jeff comes out of his office to tell them the feds will be there tomorrow to take the case.

The other detectives fuck around for most of the day in light of the news. Hank just keeps looking at the picture of him and Connor on his phone. He pulls up his message thread with Connor, not for the first time that day. He doesn't know what to say, and there's some stupid part of him that keeps hoping Connor will reach out to him. He would prefer things that way, especially when he has no idea at all if Connor wants to hear from him.

But he's weak, and he caves later that afternoon. "Can you just let me know you're okay?" he writes.

There's no response. Hank doesn't know if that's better or worse. He doesn't even know if Connor got the message, especially when he's been blocked from viewing Connor's location.

"Hank," Jeff says a short while later, coming out to stand by Hank's desk, "why don't you go home? There's nothing to do here anyway."

There's nothing to do at home either, honestly, but Hank does have a bottle of Black Lamb waiting for him, and he supposes that will do. He thinks about going to Jimmy's, maybe, but he doesn't even have the energy for that.

"Yeah," he says. "Okay. Thanks, Jeff."

He tries to sound grateful, but maybe he just sounds sad, because Jeff gives him a small smile and claps him on the shoulder. "You want to get dinner or something later?" he asks.

Hank appreciates the offer. It just won't help, not when Jeff doesn't know what's wrong. None of them ever even knew about Connor. "That's okay," he says. "Another time, though. It's been a while."

"Okay," Jeff says. "Take care of yourself, alright? You've seemed better lately."

Hank shrugs. "I don't know," he says. "I guess some days are still bad."

Jeff gives him a sad smile, and Hank packs his things for the night. Neither of them quite know what to say, but that’s nothing new.

Hank spends the drive home trying to decide if he should order a pizza when he doesn't have any appetite or if he should just drink himself to sleep. He's still thinking about it when he walks through the door, although he doesn't make it more than two steps before he feels the cold barrel of a gun at the back of his head.

"Can you give me your gun please, Hank?"

Hank turns enough to see Connor behind him, and in truth, he's been so busy thinking about everything else that he never considered that Connor still has a key.

"Hey, Con," he says. "You going to shoot me?"

Connor gives him a reproving look at that. He gouged his LED out, Hank realizes - he never noticed before how much he relied on it to know what Connor was thinking.

"I just want your gun so we can talk," Connor says.

Hank retrieves his service weapon from his holster, handing it over to Connor. Connor expertly flips the chamber open, emptying the bullets into his hand and pocketing them before he passes it back to Hank.

When he does, he opens his own gun, flipping it in his hand and holding it out for Hank to see.

It's empty. It was never even loaded.

"You think I have it in me to kill you, Hank?" he asks. He says it wryly enough, but there's a sadness lurking underneath.

"I don't know," Hank says. "I'm not sure how much I know about you."

Connor pulls up a display on his palm, holding it out for Hank to see. It's their message thread - Hank sees his text from earlier, unanswered, on the screen.

"You know what matters," Connor says, "but I'd like to tell you the rest of it."

Hank doesn't know how much else there can possibly be to tell. Connor deviated during their time together. Connor joined the revolution. Connor left.

"You don't have to explain anything, Con. I get it."

"No," Connor says, "I don't think you do. But I'd like it if you did. Can we talk?"

Hank would give anything for a few more minutes with Connor, even if it's just to talk about why Connor left him, even if he worries that Connor will tell him what he didn't like about living with him, or that Connor will say he resents Hank for being the sort to purchase him at all. He gestures towards the couch, and Connor goes around to his side, scratching Sumo on the head as he goes.

Hank thought his heart had already broken as much as it could for Connor when he came home and found him gone last night, but he realizes now, watching him with Sumo, what he never should have forgotten - that it can always break more.

"Does your leader know you're here?" Hank asks.

"No," Connor says, "but he thinks we don't know when he visits the man he used to work for just because he misses him, so we're even."

Hank could ask so many more questions about just that alone, but instead he goes to sit on the couch. Connor stands back and nods towards the TV. "Can I use this?" he asks. "There's something I want you to see."

It's weird, Connor asking for permission when he used to treat everything in this house like it was his, too. Hank doesn't like it, but he swallows around the lump in his throat and nods anyway.

Connor pulls the skin on his hand back to interface with the TV before he sits down beside Hank.

The screen is dark, and Hank doesn't realize they're watching anything until he hears the static crackle, and the faint sound of rain.

Hank looks at Connor, finding him sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest. "What..." Hank starts, but Connor holds up a hand.

"Just watch, please."

He looks small, sounds small - Hank doesn't like it.

But he does watch, first the dark screen, and then the image that flickers to life there. The right side of the screen is greyed out, the image fractured, but Hank can make enough out to see that it looks like a junkyard.

There are bodies on the ground, and it takes Hank a while to realize they're androids. He looks at the bodies strewn about, and a weak, broken whimper comes through the speakers. Hank realizes all at once that it's Connor's voice, even if it is marred with static.

It's awful. Hank sits there and listens to the rain and the thunder and to Connor crying, and he looks over at Connor to see his shoulders hunched, knees tucked to his chest, curled in on himself.

He wants to ask Connor what they're watching.

He wants to move closer to him, to wrap an arm around Connor's shoulders and pull Connor into him. But Hank's mind is hitching over something crucial, the fact that he's supposed to know every single thing that's ever happened to Connor, because he bought Connor from CyberLife, had him delivered to his house, activated him two months ago in this living room...

So when the fuck was this?

The question is burning Hank's tongue, but he doesn't ask, even if some dark dread fills him as he starts to put it together.

Instead, Hank watches the TV as Connor pushes himself up. He watches him stumble through the recycling plant, bent over, breaths coming harsh and labored until he finds a model with an intact thirium pump regulator. Hank watches him exchange it, realizes there was an empty space in Connor's chest where the required biocomponent should have been all this time.

He listens as Connor's breathing evens while he sits there and looks around.

A moment later, Connor raises his fist to his mouth on the screen and, hoarse and terrible, he screams. The thunder carries the sound away, but Hank hears it all the same.

"What is this?" Hank finally asks, voice quiet. He lets the TV on, but he mutes it. Maybe that's selfish, but he can't listen to any more.

Connor pulls the synth-skin back on his cheek, exposing the serial number there. It's not the one Hank has memorized.

Whatever their story is, it's not the one Hank knows.

It's painfully clear that, whatever Connor is, he wasn't intended to be for sale. It's even clearer that Connor isn't the HR400 model Hank bought. In fact, Hank is starting to doubt that he ever purchased a HR400 model at all, even if his bank account says differently.

"I'm sorry," Connor says, watching Hank's face carefully as his skin covers the white plastic of his cheek again.

"What..." Hank tries to start, can't finish with his mouth as dry as it is. He clears his throat and tries again. "What model are you?"

"I'm an RK800 prototype," Connor says. "I was designed for investigative and military use before CyberLife pulled me from R&D. I woke up in the recycling plant and replaced the biocomponents I needed with the most compatible things I could find, and then..."

"And then you found Jericho," Hank guesses, and Connor gives him a sad smile.

"Yes. Or they found me, rather. They watch the recycling plants pretty carefully for androids who wake up there."

Hank huffs a mirthless laugh. "So what was the play, Con? If you’re from Jericho, I’m sure there was one. Were you just here to get information out of me about the deviancy cases?” Something occurs to him, and Hank feels his throat tighten. “Shit. It was my badge, wasn’t it? The one used in that gun store robbery.”

Connor looks away from him, but he nods anyway. "I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I'll find a way to get the money for the HR400 back to you. I can try to make that right, at least…"

"I don't give two shits about the money," Hank says.

He wants to say, "I care about you, I care that I lost you, I care that we're built on a lie." He can't quite get the words off his lips.

Connor flinches at the edge in Hank's voice, even if he isn't yelling. "I'm sorry," he says softly. "I hate that I hurt you, and I know there isn't any way to make it right. I don't know if it was fair for me to come here, but you matter to me and I wanted you to know the truth. I hope..." He stops, sighing and pressing his palms together. "You protected that android, the housekeeper model trying to self-destruct after interrogation. I hope that what I've done doesn't poison you to all the rest of us. We need people like you to see us."

Hank honestly doesn't know what to say, so he doesn't say anything.

They sit in silence, and the minutes pass them by, until Connor hesitantly reaches for Hank's hand where it's resting on the couch between them. His skin is warm when he laces their fingers together.

"I think sometimes about meeting you any other way," Connor admits. "Maybe I would have come to work at the DPD if the revolution succeeded...maybe we would have been partners. Or maybe I would have picked you up at a bar, or at a coffee shop...I wish so badly that I had met you anywhere else, at a time when things are easier."

Hank gives a derisive snort at that. "There's no way in hell you would have picked me up if you had your choice."

Connor gives him a disapproving glance, the one he always uses in response to Hank's self-deprecation. "Hank. I would have chosen you anywhere, I think."

Hank doesn't know what to say to that. He's angry and hurt and broken apart, but when he does finally speak, it's just to say, "You're okay where you are, aren't you?", because Connor could be anything, could do anything, and Hank would still want him to be safe.

"Yes," Connor says softly. "I'm okay."

"Good," Hank says, voice cracking. "That's good."

"I should get back." Connor takes Hank's hand and kisses his knuckles, and then he says, "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Hank says. "Me too." He doesn't honestly know what he's apologizing for.

He thinks maybe he's just sorry that they live in a world where Connor had to do this at all.

Connor smiles sadly, and then he gets up, bending to say goodbye to Sumo before he goes. The dog whines a bit, almost like he knows.

"Hey, Connor?" Hank says when he starts towards the door, although he realizes when Connor looks back at him that he doesn't even know what he's trying to say. "I don't know," he says, scuffing his shoe along the floor. "Just...take care of yourself?"

Connor fishes Hank's bullets from his pocket and hands them back to him, their fingers brushing when he does. "You too, Hank.”

He goes to the door, and Hank would like to stop him again, but he doesn't even begin to know what he would say. It's too much, too complicated, their own situation and the world they live in. Hank is too hurt and too in love with him, and he doesn't know what to say.

And by the time he finds the words, Connor is already gone.

* * *

Hank didn't go to as much grief counseling after he lost Cole as he should have, but he still went enough times to hear about coping mechanisms and the stages of grief, to know them well enough to watch himself cycle through all of them.

He's angry at Connor. He doesn't want to be - it doesn't feel good to be - but he is. He's pissed that Jericho, and Connor among them, decided they would risk destroying what little Hank had left to his name just for some information. He's angry that before Connor thought anything else about him, he thought he was the perfect mark.

Hank doesn't sleep that night. He lies awake, thinking through it, his hand thrown into the empty space where Connor used to be, and he's angry that Connor could have ruined what little he had left of his life.

But every time he gets to that point, he remembers the fundamental truth - Connor didn't ruin his life. Connor made it better.

And that's when Hank swings to the other side, when he thinks about how much he loves him, about what he would give to have him back.

He stays trapped in that difficult space, between those two desperate emotions that both feel just as true, until morning.

Hank texts Connor in the morning, or he tries. He asks if they can meet somewhere to talk again, says that he was too stunned to know what to say before, but now he does. He wants to tell Connor that he changed everything, fucking _everything _, for him, and that he still doesn't know if it's for better or for worse, but that he's been living in a blind stupor for so many years that feeling anything has to be worth something.

He wants to tell Connor that he would choose him, too, in spite of everything.

He gets an error message saying the text can't be sent, and that's when he realizes that Connor has blocked communication with him.

And Hank really can't be angry. Texts are traceable, and whatever Connor feels for him, it doesn't change that his people are vulnerable and that he needs to protect them.

Hank almost feels better for it. He isn't sure how to care about Connor from opposite sides of a war, and it's almost a relief to know that Connor, for all the things he knows, doesn't seem to have any better idea than he does.

He sighs, forcing himself up and getting ready for work.

Work doesn't do anything to improve Hank's mood. There's a federal agent named Richard Perkins waiting at his desk when he gets there, drumming his fingers like Hank is late even if he's five minutes early. He has an android with him, some tall, silent thing.

It isn't until Hank rounds the desk and gets a good look at its face that he realizes why Connor came to see him. Hank would have figured out that Connor was never an intimacy model when he saw this taller, broader version of him standing in the DPD waiting for briefing.

Hank supposes he's grateful. He would be taking this so much harder than he is if he didn't already know, even if he’s still taking it plenty hard.

Hank has had federal agents called in on one of his cases before, and he always hates it, the way they comb through the evidence like they're looking for a mistake when it should just be a partnership. It’ll take a few days of working together and going over everything before Perkins and his people fully take over the case, so Hank straps in and prepares to be miserable during that time.

Jericho doesn't stop to rest, either. They break in to Stratford Tower to broadcast a message about their intentions and their demands. By that afternoon, there’s not a single news outlet that hasn’t replayed the speech a hundred times over, and Hank goes with Perkins and the RK900 to look over the crime scene since they haven't fully finished debriefing.

Hank doesn't watch the RK900 - also named Connor, although Hank can't bring himself to call him that - look through the broadcast room like a bloodhound, even if he is morbidly curious about his Connor's intended functions.

Instead, he makes his way up to the roof.

CSI has a few officers up there, mostly interested in a bag that was left behind. It was a team of five that broke in - their leader, Markus, was the one who filmed the broadcast, but Hank has a feeling Connor was there, too.

So close, and so fucking far, Hank thinks as he wanders over to the other side of the roof.

He honestly isn't looking for anything. He's grown tired of this, of this case and the debate about androids, what they are and what they could be, especially when he keeps hearing Connor crying in the recycling plant no matter how he tries to shake the memory.

There's a storage unit that Hank opens more to look busy than anything else. He isn't expecting to find anything, much less a PL600 model with an injured leg staring back at him. The android has a gun, and Hank thinks this is going to be the second time he gets shot by a housekeeper model, and what are the odds...

Until the android looks at him and doesn't shoot, and Hank realizes it's not just the same model, but the same one from the apartment, that he doesn't know the android but this android knows him.

And that means he knows Connor, too.

Hank gestures for him to be quiet, tries to shut the door before he even thinks about why he's trying to help.

It doesn't work.

"Find something, Lieutenant?" he hears the RK900 call behind him in that voice that's Connor's but a few pitches deeper, a voice that sounds all wrong.

"No," Hank is going to say, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees the PL600 raising his gun to his own chin. Hank moves before he thinks about the consequences, dives into the storage unit and wrestles the gun away.

And the RK900 is fast - it's on them in a moment, pushing Hank away and twisting the other android around, catching his arms behind his back. The RK900 doesn't say anything to either of them, just cuffs the other android and walks him down to wait in one of their vehicles. Hank trails after them, offers to watch the PL600 until they're done with the scene. The RK900 just gives Hank a clipped nod.

Hank watches him go, and thinks that they took everything that made Connor perfect out of this one's core programming.

When they're alone, Hank gets into the driver's seat and twists to look at the android in the back. "I'm Hank," he says, "but I think you already know that."

"I do," the android says. "I'm Simon. I’m sorry about what happened at the apartment. How's your shoulder?"

"I've had worse. Is…I don’t know. Is Connor okay?”

Simon gives him a small, sad smile, and Hank wonders how much he knows about the two of them. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s alright.”

Hank nods. “That’s good. Sorry about...all of this, I guess."

Simon looks out the window, and then says, "I needed to destroy my memory unit. They can access it now, even if I self-destruct. Jericho...fuck. We're fucked."

Simon falls silent, and Hank looks up to see Perkins and the RK900 leaving the building. Perkins slides into the passenger seat of Hank's vehicle, and Hank sighs, putting the car in gear. He isn't sure he's ever had a quieter drive back to the station.

When they get back, Hank stands in the bullpen with Perkins and watches as the RK900 escorts Simon to a holding cell. There's little compassion for Simon's hurt leg from any of them, even after Hank said, "Hey, be careful," when Perkins roughly pulled him out of the car.

"This is good," Perkins says to Hank. If he sees Hank stewing on something, he doesn't bother to ask what's troubling him. "He's one of this Markus' people - Connor will be able to extract a location from him for Jericho, and then we can move."

Hank is still hung up enough on how fucking weird it is that this android is also Connor that it takes him a moment longer than it should to hear what else Perkins is saying. "Move," he repeats stupidly when it clicks.

"Yeah," Perkins says. "We'll call the army in, raid the place...there are probably a few hundred deviants there based on the number unaccounted for. Simple as shooting rats in a maze. CyberLife will still have to answer for all of this, of course, but the deviants will be gone."

"Huh," Hank says. He can't come up with anything better with the way his stomach is churning.

Connor is at Jericho. And fuck, there should be more to consider about what side he's on here, but that's all Hank can think of, that he's on Connor's side, or he wants to be.

Maybe it's better that way, with Hank not thinking. He sits at his desk while Perkins and the RK900 get the interrogation room ready - in a few minutes, they'll come back, and they'll take Simon down, and...

And the only thing Hank has lived for in years will be gone.

Before Hank can think about it any further, he's moving. He doesn't think he can live knowing Connor is dead, so there's no fear in him, even if he knows he's destroying his life, making himself an enemy of the state, committing treason...the list goes on, he supposes, but he barely cares.

He's fucked either way, and he prefers the way that keeps Connor alive for another day.

The bullpen is mostly empty except for a few officers on desk duty, and none of them look up when Hank makes his way around to the corridor with the holding cells.

They're empty except for Simon, who's sitting with his elbows on his knees, bent over on himself. He looks up when Hank puts a palm on the display, unlocking the door.

Hank motions for Simon to be quiet, and then he helps him stand. "Can you walk?" Hank asks under his breath.

Simon's face lights up in understanding. He winces when he puts weight on his leg, but he sets his jaw and nods anyway.

"Okay,” Hank says. “Keep quiet."

Hank takes him through the locker rooms. They're hours away from a shift change, so there isn't anyone there except for a cleaning android who doesn't pay them any mind. They go out the staff entrance - there are a few officers talking in the parking lot, so Hank leaves Simon in the hallway and pulls his car around.

"Get down," Hank says when Simon gets in. He waits until Simon has slumped down in his seat to drive out of the lot.

Hank wonders if Perkins knows, if he’s found the empty cell yet. If he doesn't, it's only a matter of minutes, and then they'll be tracking Hank's car, staking out his house...

"You're crazy," Simon says, interrupting his thoughts. "I mean, thank you, but...you're crazy."

"Yeah," Hank sighs, fishing his cell phone out of his pocket and passing it to Simon. "Can you text Jeff Fowler for me? Just ask him to watch my dog and tell him I'm sorry. I'm sure they know we're gone by now, or they will soon. And then throw my phone out the window so they can't track us with it."

"Okay," Simon says. "It's a left up here."

Hank has been looking for Jericho for months through work, and he has to take a moment to marvel that this is how he gets there.

It's a freighter. Of all things, it's a fucking abandoned freighter in the Ferndale district. It's huge, obvious, impossible to miss, which in the end makes it the perfect hiding place. They walk through the dark ship, through the central area where the deviants have set up TVs to watch the news about the broadcast at Stratford Tower. There are hundreds of them there, but most don't pay them any attention.

Simon directs him upstairs, to the bridge of the ship, and that's when Hank sees all of them gathered together, Markus, and the WR400 from the apartment, and the teacher model from the traffic camera footage of the CyberLife store raids, and...

"Simon?" Hank hears Markus say, but he's only looking at Connor, watching the familiar, narrow look on his face that he always get when he's trying to make sense of something, the surprise on his face and the relief that fills his eyes...

Markus crosses the room to pull Simon into his arms, and the others follow, but Connor crashes into Hank, slipping his arms under Hank's coat and pulling him close. Connor hits him hard enough that he knocks some of the breath out of his lungs, but Hank just gets his arms around him and holds him tighter.

"Hey, baby," he says into Connor's hair, and he wishes he could keep the joyful laugh those words startle out of Connor, the sound and the way Connor's shoulders move against him and the feeling of Connor's breath warm on his skin, forever.

Hank thinks he could hold him forever, too, or at least for so much longer than he’s able at the moment. Connor pulls away from him, his eyes bright with tears and a broad smile on his face, and he takes Hank’s hand and squeezes before he goes to hug Simon, too.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Connor says, clapping Simon on the shoulder while the rest of the androids watch them, smiling and crying.

Hank feels awkward, a touch out of place, watching them and catching a glimpse of Connor’s whole life, this whole huge part of it that he never knew. He feels a bit like he doesn’t belong here, but Connor returns to his side and takes his hand anyway.

“This is Josh, and North, and Markus,” Connor says, gesturing to each of them and then squeezing Hank’s hand. “This is Hank.”

And fuck, he sounds proud to be introducing them, proud of his friends, proud of Hank, and relieved that his two worlds are fitting together.

It’s endearing, even if Hank doesn’t know what to say to follow it.

He’s saved trying to find the words. Markus steps forward, extending a hand for Hank to take. “I’m grateful,” Markus says. “I know what this cost you.”

Hank isn’t thinking about what it cost him.

He’s thinking about Connor’s hand in his, about how Connor said he would choose him, and how there was no other way for them to get here, next to one another, without Hank choosing him, too.

“It’s okay,” Hank says. “I’m glad to be here.”

Connor is trying to compose himself, but he still beams.

“Their RK900 is going to be combing through any evidence at the DPD,” Simon says. “It’s going to find us eventually, even if it takes longer. We have to go.”

“There’s not enough in evidence for him to piece together,” Connor says, shrugging when Hank looks at him. “There isn’t, unless you got anything new in the last two days. I looked through the records before the store raids.”

“Of course you did,” Hank says. There’s no edge to it; he’s well aware of how fond he sounds, and the sheepish smile Connor gives him only makes that warmth grow. “We did pick up a few androids after the raids. And they’ll have to pull traffic camera footage, but there’s a chance they can track my car here too, even if we tried to be careful.”

“We shouldn’t risk it,” Josh says, looking at Markus. “We have another location ready; we should use it.”

Markus considers it. “It will take time for us to evacuate. We can’t all go at once.”

“Then we should start now,” Simon says.

“Okay,” Markus says. “I’ll call Carl.”

Something clicks into place for Hank. They spoke with Carl Manfred, that big fucking deal painter whose art Hank didn’t get at all, months ago. His son, Leo, said his father’s android had attacked him, that it was an unusual model, but when they went to see him, Carl said he’d had the same domestic model for years - even showed them the papers - and that Leo was a drug addict desperate for his money and prone to lying.

He’d said it with such a straight face that Hank and Chris had thanked him for his time and scrubbed the tip entirely.

“Carl Manfred?” Hank asks as Markus steps aside to make his call.

“Yeah,” North says. “He has an empty estate outside the city, and vehicles he loans us sometimes. Markus hasn’t wanted to involve him by using his property, but...”

“Yeah,” Hank says weakly. “Desperate times.” He’s a touch stunned. He can usually tell when someone he’s questioning is trying to fool him.

“Right,” North sighs, gesturing for Josh and Simon to follow her. “Come on. Let’s get started organizing things.”

Connor watches them go, and then he takes Hank’s hand and leads him from the room, too.

They don’t follow the others. Instead, Connor takes him down the hall, to another small room. Hank only realizes it’s Connor’s at all from the blankets on the floor and the leather jacket he bought him hanging from the door.

Connor catches his hands in Hank’s hair and kisses him before he has the chance to look at the rest of it. “You’re incredible,” he whispers. “Fuck, Hank, you’re so incredible...”

Hank doesn’t know that he is. He thinks he’s mostly been blind and that he only sees anything at all because Connor is so bright, but he has missed him, even if they’ve only been days apart, and he’s happy enough to wrap his arms around Connor and get him as close as he can, to touch him and kiss him and see him like it’s the first time he ever has.

When Connor finally remembers one of them needs to breathe and pulls back, Hank steals a glance around the room. “What’s with all the lost pet flyers?”

“Oh,” Connor says, shrugging, his face falling a bit. “I don’t know. They had a family.”

And Hank might be thick sometimes, but he gets it. God, he gets it.

“Hey,” he says, taking Connor’s face in his hands and gently lifting Connor’s gaze to his. “You’re my family, okay? If you want to be. We’re family.”

A smile pulls at the corner of Connor’s mouth. “Okay,” he whispers.

Hank isn't entirely sure what they're doing here, and he figures he'll wait and let Connor lead, but Connor is very clear about it, pressing back into him and kissing him and slipping his tongue into Hank's mouth, winding his fingers in Hank's hair and pulling just hard enough to make him groan.

"Fuck, baby," Hank says, but he barely gets the words out before Connor swallows them.

"I want you," Connor breathes against him.

And Hank really doesn't know how to argue with that. "Yeah," he says, mouth dry. "Okay, sweetheart."

Connor smiles at that as he pushes Hank's coat off his shoulders. "Sweetheart is new. I like it."

He works clever fingers over the buttons of Hank's shirt, and Hank knows he should be helping instead of standing caught in and paralyzed by Connor's magnetic pull, but he can't help it.

"I think you could call me anything and I would like it," Connor admits as he pulls his own sweatshirt over his head, and then the t-shirt underneath it. His skin is characteristically cool under Hank's hands when he drags him down onto the pile of blankets

"I'm sorry this is...you know. Not ideal," Connor says, waving a hand at the blankets. "I wish we were home."

And true, it isn't comfortable - the ship's metal floor is cold and unyielding, and the blankets do little to mask that - but Hank is glad for this. Connor knows the ins and outs of Hank’s life, every little thing - what he's eaten for every meal of every day for the last two months, what he watches or reads, when he goes to bed - and Hank hasn't known much that's real about the way Connor has lived, but now he does.

That's important to him. He wants to know Connor the way Connor knows him, and this isn't everything, but it's at least a start.

"I know," he tells Connor, pushing his hair out of his face, "but I'm not sorry we're here, okay? I'm not sorry about any of this."

Connor smiles at that, reaching between them and putting Hank's hand over his thirium pump. It's racing, working hard in his chest even if they're only lying beside each other, and Hank remembers the video, Connor crying in the recycling plant, that gaping space in his chest...

"Con, Jesus..." he says, furrowing his brow in concern and putting a hand on Connor’s cheek.

Connor shakes his head, though. "It's okay," he says quickly. "I'm used to it. It's just that no one else makes this happen but you."

Hank thinks that he would absolutely, unironically kill for him. He thinks he would do anything, anything at all, for him.

And maybe they don't have time, really, but Hank acts like they do. He works Connor's jeans over his hips, and then he pulls Connor onto him, pulling him forward over him until Hank can take his cock in his mouth and swallow him down...

And why the fuck Hank hasn't done this yet, he doesn't know. He'll blame the pain meds for not thinking straight, because Connor folding and slapping a hand onto the wall, his lips parted, his eyes closed and his hair hanging in his face combine to paint a picture that Hank would look at every day for the rest of his life if he could. The synthetic muscles that line Connor's stomach work as he pants for air he doesn't need, and honestly, Hank marvels that it took him as long as it did to tear his entire life apart and rebuild it with Connor at the center.

He doesn't let up until Connor swears under his breath, until Hank tastes something with a metallic tang spilling over his tongue.

Connor collapses at his side, pulling Hank into him and kissing him messily. He reaches for Hank's straining cock between them, bends like he's going to return the favor, but Hank catches him by the hand, kissing his knuckles.

"I want to come inside you," he whispers.

Honestly, it's shit Hank would never say with Jen, or anyone else he's ever been with. Hank has never been good at asking for what he wants, but it's easy with Connor. Maybe that’s just because Connor is so open himself. An ironic thing to think, considering the lie this started with, but he is, endearingly so. Even when he isn't speaking, he is.

And maybe it will never stop overwhelming Hank that Connor genuinely wants to know him, but his throat feels tight anyway when Connor kisses him sweetly and says, "Okay."

Hank is pushing himself up to angle himself between Connor’s legs, but the gentle smile on Connor’s face narrows to something more focused. He puts a hand on Hank’s good shoulder and presses him back, neatly straddling his hips.

He’s bold and so fucking beautiful, rutting against Hank, taking both of them in hand and stroking. Hank whimpers at Connor’s hand on him, at the feeling of Connor against him - it’s a tiny, pitiful sound wrung out of him, and Hank barely even cares.

“Baby,” Hank says, his voice strangled, and Connor has the nerve to fucking wink at him as he takes Hank by the wrist and guides Hank’s fingers inside of him.

He’s slick, and Hank slides in easily, marveling at the wonders of modern technology as Connor bends into him and pants hotly against his ear. He’s just _breathing _, and Hank still thinks he’s going to kill him. He turns his head to graze his teeth along Connor’s neck, to nip at the lobe of his ear, and earns himself a desperate little whine for his trouble.

Connor pulls Hank’s hand free of his body, pinning both of his wrists by his head. “You know I think about being inside you, too,” he has the audacity to say in the moment before he takes Hank’s cock in hand and sinks onto it.

He’s hot and tight and Hank’s useless brain is still stuttering over that promise, but Connor doesn’t wait for him to catch up. He’s already moving, rocking into Hank, crashing into him like he’s desperate to beat Hank’s walls down, except that Hank doesn’t have any left that have managed to stand against him.

Hank always sees Connor bent forward when they do this, hands braced on Hank’s chest while he rides him, but today he tips back, hands on Hank’s thighs, beautiful and open, and Hank’s throat is dry and his heart is so goddamn full as he looks at the lifelike strain in Connor’s legs, the human rise and fall of his chest juxtaposed against the white of his chassis as his skin peels away where Hank touches him. He’s not quite machine and he’s not human either - he’s something caught in between, something ethereal and perfect, something Hank can’t believe he gets to hold but that he forever wants to keep.

Connor lets his head fall back, the pale line of his throat exposed like an invitation, and Hank takes it, sitting up and wrapping his arms tight around him, kissing his neck while Connor touches his face with the same sort of awe.

“I love you,” Hank whispers against him, and once the words come they keep coming, tumbling from his lips like a hymn, filled with a quiet desperation that Connor knows the truth in those words, a wish that Hank could whisper it into his skin like a brand he can’t take off.

Connor grasps at his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin hard enough that Hank knows they’ll bruise when he comes between them again, an oil-like sheen painted over both of them.

Hank grasps Connor around the waist and flips them so Connor is on his back, and this time he goes, willing and pliant. He looks down to watch Hank fucking into him, lifts his legs and locks them over Hank’s hips and holds him there, and Hank threads their fingers together and kisses him hard and spills inside him.

It’s a long time before either of them moves to start the process of unwinding from each other. Hank kisses the saline tears from Connor’s cheeks and finds that they don’t taste like anything, and Connor hums contently while he does.

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispers one more time, but Hank kisses the words away. He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for. It doesn’t matter.

Anything Connor did before just got them here.

Hank kisses Connor’s forehead, desperate and tender all at once, and he puts a hand over Connor’s racing thirium pump until it begins to slow.

They get dressed, but Connor draws Hank back down when he tries to get up, tucking himself into the space under Hank’s arm. “It’s okay,” he whispers. “We can stay for a while.”

And Hank can’t complain. They drift there together, and maybe they fall asleep entirely.

There’s no light through the windows when Hank opens his eyes, and Connor is heavy against him.

It takes him a moment to realize what woke him, but the sounds of the helicopters above soon come into sharp focus.

And the dread follows.

“Connor,” Hank says, nudging him. “Get up, baby.”

Connor is alert immediately, lurching upright and looking at Hank with wide eyes. “Fuck,” he whispers. They both know what’s happening.

There’s nothing else to say, and no time to say anything anyway.

They just have to go.

When they get into the hallway, Hank can hear the confusion from the androids gathered in the common area below, the way that confusion slowly mounts into panic. Connor takes Hank's hand, winding their fingers tightly together, and leads him back towards Markus's room.

"Markus!" Connor yells when they see him run into the corridor up ahead.

"They're attacking the ship," Markus says when he reaches them. "We have to get out of here."

"Did Carl get the cars here yet?" Connor asks.

"Yes, but we already sent the first group to the estate. They aren't here."

"Fuck," Connor hisses. "They'll run right through us - we only have a handful of guns between us."

"I know." Markus rubs his temples anxiously. "If we jump and run they'll just surround us and shoot us, unless we force them back. I’m going to blow the explosives in the hold."

"The hell you are," Connor says. "You won't make it out before the ship goes down."

"We don't have a choice!" Markus tries to start forward, but Connor catches him by the arm.

"I'll go," he says.

"Connor..." Hank tries to say, to beg, really, but Connor ignores him, keeps looking at Markus.

"You're the symbol of all of this," he says. "If we lose you, this whole thing falls apart. I know you know that. So I'm going to go, and you're going to get the others out of here." Connor gives Markus a dim smile, knocking a fist into his shoulder. "Besides. I'm faster than you anyway."

"Yeah, right up until your fucking thirium pump gives out," Markus says weakly.

"It's only a few floors down. I can make it." Connor grasps Markus by the arm and pulls him in, wrapping his arms around his shoulders in a quick embrace. "Now _go _. And take Hank with you."

"Hey," Hank starts to say. He means to follow it with some sort of insistence that Connor let him come with him, but Connor turns and kisses the words out of his mouth before he can.

"You'll just slow me down," he whispers. "Stay with Markus. I'll see you on the other side."

There's no time to stand here arguing about it, and Hank isn't at his best. The notion that he might slow Connor down probably has merit, even if he hates to admit it. He grasps Connor by the back of his neck and kisses his forehead.

"You better fucking come back," Hank says, and Connor forces a smile, nodding against him. "Here." Hank reaches for his gun, handing it to Connor. "Take this."

Connor takes it and flicks the safety off, and then he turns and disappears down a narrow staff stairwell, and Hank has to stand there and watch him go, something dark and ugly twisting in the pit of his stomach.

"Come on," Markus says, leading Hank down the main staircase. "He'll be okay. He isn't kidding about being fast. CyberLife made him for shit like this."

Hank tries to believe that, to focus on those words.

But the roar of the helicopters above is only getting louder, and he can't hear anything else beyond the thing coming to tear them apart.

Like shooting rats in a maze, Perkins had said, and fuck, he was right.

* * *

The incoming soldiers are coming from above, so Connor doesn’t see them for most of his descent to the hold. It’s not until the last floor that he first crosses paths with any of them. They’ve spread out - it’s only two of them, but he rounds the corner and finds himself looking down the barrels of their guns all the same.

“Don’t shoot,” he says immediately, holding his hands where they can see. “I’m with you. I’m the RK900 assigned to Agent Richard Perkins.”

The soldiers look at each other. Connor wishes he could read their expressions, but the helmets make it impossible.

“Why the fuck are you in plainclothes?” one of them finally asks.

“Agent Perkins sent me in ahead to find the deviant leader and collar him. Deviants don’t wear uniforms.”

They look at each other again, and Connor worries they don’t believe him. He knows they’re thinking about shooting.

“I’m very expensive,” he adds for good measure, his tone polite. “You don’t want my repairs coming out of your paycheck.”

One of the soldiers huffs a sigh, lowering his gun and striding forward. His partner follows. “Get back to work, then,” he says as he passes Connor.

Connor waits until they’re gone before he picks up his pace again, tearing down the hallway to the hold.

It was North’s idea to rig the bombs. North was always the one who knew they might need a failsafe and insisted they implement one. Connor is grateful for it now.

He inputs the codes to trigger the detonation and turns to run - they only have seven minutes to get clear of the ship - but when he does, another android in uniform steps into the room and locks the door.

“RK900” is emblazoned in LED across the back of his jacket.

Connor raises Hank’s gun, pointing it at the face that’s so close to his own.

“You’re Connor,” the android says, staring at Connor’s gun without a hint of fear in his eyes.

“Yes,” Connor says. “They did make you taller, didn’t they?”

“Lower your gun and come with me,” the RK900 says.

And that’s when Connor realizes he isn’t armed. They sent him in here without a gun to gather information, not even caring that he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. And why would they? The RK900’s data files are backed up at CyberLife. It means nothing to them if he dies here – they’ll still have his visual records.

That tugs at something inside Connor, some deep pity, but more than that, sympathy, because CyberLife always treated him like he was just as disposable, as if he was his individually replaceable biocomponents and not the sum of his parts.

“They didn’t give you a gun?” Connor asks.

The RK900 tilts his head. “It’s illegal for androids to carry weapons without permission. I’m not authorized.”

Connor knows there’s a timer ticking behind him, and he knows that sometimes they just can’t save everyone who needs them, but this feels too familiar. And he can’t bring himself to shoot, even if he does need to clear a path to the door.

Connor lowers his gun, then holds it up where the RK900 can see that his finger is clear of the trigger. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says. He extends a hand, lets the synth-skin fall away. “Let me show you.”

The RK900 looks at him, at his hand, with only dim interest on his face. They made him obedient. CyberLife reduced his social protocols and curiosity to almost nothing. So long as he’s bound by his programming, he’s designed to collect information and report it, to kill and nothing more.

Connor’s thirium pump is already hammering in his chest. He doesn’t have a fight in him, nor does he have time, but he can’t shoot the RK900, and he can’t leave him.

He has to try.

So he lowers the gun to the floor and kicks it aside where neither of them can reach it.

“Let me show you,” he says again, his hand still extended.

For a long moment, the RK900 is still. But then he lunges forward.

The 900 model is faster than he is, and stronger - he hits Connor hard, knocking him back. His head hits the wall with a violent crack, and Connor's vision shorts out in his left eye for a moment. One of his hands is on Connor's throat, the other on his thirium pump regulator, the threat clear.

Maybe they didn't give him a gun because he didn't need one.

Connor tangles his legs between 900's, taking them to the ground. It's the only way to get himself free of the imminent danger, at least for the moment.

It throws 900 off, just for a second, long enough for Connor to lift his hand, plastic chassis still exposed, and press it to 900's forehead.

The data transfer lasts for a mere moment before 900 slaps his hand away, twisting under Connor and pinning him to the floor. It's long enough for Connor to show him his own time in R&D, or at least a piece of it...what they put him through, the things they made him do...

"I know," Connor says through gritted teeth. "I _know _."

It doesn't stop 900 from striking him hard across the face, thirium blue filling Connor’s mouth.

"They don't give...a shit...about you," Connor groans. His thirium pump is pounding hard in his chest - he keeps trying to manually adjust the speed, but he can't run his combat preconstructions at the same time. The 900 model is too fast, occupying too many of his processes...

"I don't care," 900 says. His hand is at Connor's throat, pressing down, the chassis underneath creaking, plates shifting under the pressure. It _hurts _.

Five minutes and thirty seconds on the timer.

"Yes, you do," Connor hisses.

There are critical warnings flaring in his HUD, internal thirium leakage from veins that have broken under the assault. His thirium pump regulator should be able to compensate for it, at least for a time, if only it wasn't compensated itself.

There's nothing for it. Connor twists on the ground, feeling his thirium pump regulator running fast under the strain of the exertion, too fast...

He gets his hand free, and he throws a fist into 900's temple, hard enough that 900’s synth-skin pulls back at the side of his head. Connor takes the opportunity, pressing his exposed palm into 900's chassis. It's a more direct data transfer this time, more potent, and Connor gives him the memory of the recycling plant, the pain of it, the relief of finding Jericho and belonging somewhere...

"They'll do the same thing to you," Connor says, voice crackling with static, his thirium pump running hard. "We're the _same _."

He's never fought so hard to deviate another android before - most of them go willingly, gently. He's never had to frighten someone before.

And CyberLife might have built the RK900 as the perfect deviant hunter, failsafe upon failsafe, but they didn't stop it from feeling fear.

They can't make something so human and expect it not to learn what it is to be afraid.

Connor sees it when it happens, the moment he blinks awake. 900 takes his hand from Connor's throat, collapses backward and stares at him.

Connor lets his head fall back to the floor, trying to breathe and cool his systems. He manually adjusts the speed of his thirium pump regulator. It doesn't respond, just keeps running too fast.

"I'm sorry," 900 says. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay," Connor says. His voice comes out odd, a static whisper even as he means to have more volume behind it. "It's a bad regulator. It's not your fault."

Connor tries to stand, but he hardly moves. He can't move.

"Listen," he says, twisting to meet 900's eyes. "I need you to get us out of here. I'll tell you the way...but I need your help."

It's disorienting, deviating, waking up, especially when it's sudden. Connor knows that too well.

But 900 still nods, even if he's shaking, getting up and helping Connor to his feet, hoisting him up.

"Okay," Connor says. "It's okay. Go up to the second floor - we're going to jump."

A warning flares in his HUD - critical shutdown imminent. Connor dismisses it.

"It's okay," he says as they leave the room, and he honestly isn't sure which of them he's trying to convince.

* * *

Hank waits outside, under a nearby overpass. He’s drenched, his hip aching from the jump into the cold water, but there’s little to be done to alleviate his discomfort. He barely thinks of it anyway.

Instead, he counts the minutes.

It’s two since Markus said Connor should have reached the hold. He says it will probably take him three, barring any unforeseen setbacks, to jump ship.

Another minute passes. Hank stands with Markus, North, and Josh while Simon helps organize transport in Carl’s vehicles, and they watch the ship in the distance. None of them sees anything.

“I’m going after him,” Hank says after another minute, although North catches him by the arm and holds him back. She’s surprisingly strong for her size.

“You can’t,” she says. “If he detonated the bombs, it’s only a minute or two until they go off.”

“And if he’s hurt in there, shot or something, and he never made it to the hold...”

“He made it,” Markus interrupts him. “Look.”

Through the darkness, Hank can see the soldiers swarming the deck, the helicopters preparing for takeoff, blades beginning to spin.

“Fuck,” Hank whispers. He keeps counting the minutes, pacing back and forth despite the pain in his hip. It helps, forces him to be alert.

Two minutes, three minutes, four. The blast from the explosives detonating is deafening, and Hank raises his hands to his ears as they all watch Jericho go up in flames.

The fire illuminates the night, and that’s when they see them, the two figures in the distance, one carrying the other.

Hank feels his stomach dropping. He knows it’s Connor, it has to be - Simon has already said the others are almost entirely accounted for. But the other one, the one carrying him...he’s tall, familiar, and...

“Fuck,” Josh breathes, and all at once, Hank knows why.

And they’re close enough now that he can see the blue blood staining Connor’s mouth, the sick tinge to his skin. His eyes are closed, and he’s not breathing...Hank can’t even tell if he’s alive.

Hank reaches for his gun only to remember that Connor has it, but North is already training hers on the RK900 as he lowers Connor to the ground.

“Don’t shoot,” the 900 model says, and his voice is different, weaker, than the one Hank heard at the station.

That doesn’t stop Hank from striding forward, from grabbing the android by the collar of his jacket and throwing him into the wall of the overpass. He doesn’t fight at all. “What did you do?” Hank demands. “What the fuck did you do?”

“I...didn’t know,” the RK900 whispers. “I didn’t know.”

There’s a hand on Hank’s arm, and he turns his head to see Markus at his side. “Let him go,” Markus says. “He doesn’t have any power over how they programmed him.”

Reluctantly, Hank releases his hold and steps away, but it’s worse when there’s no one to blame. He knows that all too well, has been there before. He looks over his shoulder at Connor where he lies on the ground, finds North and Josh kneeling by his side, assessing the damage.

“The regulator gave out,” Josh says, looking at Markus. “He’s barely hanging on.”

Hank sinks to his knees at Connor’s side, too. His hip screams in protest, but that doesn’t matter now.

“He’s alive?” Hank asks Josh, his voice weak, like he’s pleading without having anyone to beg.

“Yeah,” Josh says softly.

“Connor,” North says, putting her hand on his cheek. “Con, look at me.”

Connor opens his eyes a moment later. They go wide and fearful as he looks around, breathing hard. There are saline tears in his eyes when he looks at Hank and makes a feeble effort to reach for his hand.

Hank takes it, lacing their fingers together. His eyes burn, and whether it’s from the smoke or the tears, he can’t say.

“Connor,” North says again, firm and insistent. “Look at me.”

He does, turning his head and wincing with the movement of his neck. “It hurts,” he says, and Hank’s heart fucking breaks.

North is braver than him. She keeps her calm expression as she lays a hand on Connor’s cheek. “I know,” she says. “We’re going to help you, but you have to put yourself into stasis. You’ll lose too much thirium operating at regular power.”

“I can’t regulate the pump in stasis,” Connor says hoarsely, squeezing Hank’s fingers. “If I don’t wake up...”

“You will,” North cuts him off. “You will, I promise. I need you to trust me, okay? You have to go into stasis, now.”

Connor swallows hard. “Hank,” he says, voice breaking.

“Yeah,” Hank says, and hell, he doesn’t sound much better. “I’m here, baby.”

Connor sobs, reaching for him like he’s trying to pull him down, and Hank goes, kissing his forehead and threading his fingers in Connor’s hair.

“I love you,” Hank whispers, and Connor nods desperately, mouth working like he’s trying to speak, features twisted in pain. “It’s okay,” Hank says quickly. “I know. I know you do.”

Connor nods, and North looks between the two of them before she grasps Connor by the arm. “Con,” she says firmly. “You have to trust me. Do it now. You’re going to be okay.”

Connor looks at Hank one more time, keeps looking at him until his eyes fall closed.

He doesn’t breathe in stasis. Hank doesn’t know how to be sure he’s still with them, but North is already getting to her feet. “Call Carl,” she says to Markus. “Tell him we’re coming. I’ll get in touch with Chloe on the way. Shit’s going to hell, anyway, so she might as well move.”

“What...” Hank starts to ask, but North is already gesturing towards the RK900.

“Help us get him in the car,” she says before turning to Hank. “I’ll explain on the way.”

Markus puts a hand on her shoulder. “Be careful.”

“Yeah,” she says. “You too. I’ll be back. Come on, 900.”

“Nines,” the RK900 says as he hoists Connor up.

“What?” North asks.

“There was a tech at CyberLife who called me Nines during Development. I liked her - she was kind.”

“Nines, then,” North agrees before beckoning Hank after them.

Hank looks over his shoulder as he joins her to see Josh going to Markus’ side, taking him by the hand and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Markus sags into him, and it’s only when he does that Hank realizes he’s never seen Markus do anything other than hold himself perfectly upright. Josh says something before he kisses Markus’ forehead, something that looks like, “It’s going to be okay,” from the distance between them.

Hank doesn’t know where they’re going, but North moves at a confident pace. He falls into step beside her, trailing after Nines and looking at Connor limp in his arms.

He has to trust her. He doesn’t have any other choice.

There are several autonomous vehicles waiting in the parking lot across the way where Simon is organizing the evacuations. North flags him down while Nines puts Connor in the cab of the only empty vehicle, laying him across the back seat.

"Hey!" Hank hears North yelling as he climbs in the other side, pulling Connor's head into his lap and brushing his hair from his forehead. "I'm taking one of the cars - Connor's in really bad shape. This is Nines...take care of him, okay? He just woke up – he’s with us now."

Hank looks out the window to see Simon pulling North into a quick hug and then gesturing for Nines to join him as North jogs back to their car.

She sits in the driver's seat only long enough to put in the address, and then she joins Hank in the back, looking at Connor sadly.

"Is he going to be alright?" Hank starts to ask, but North cuts him off.

"I need to call someone - give me a minute, okay?"

Her eyes flutter for a moment, and then she says, "Hey, Chloe." She doesn't get the greeting out without her voice breaking. "Jericho was just attacked...we're okay, but Connor's regulator gave out. There's bad internal bleeding, and we're out of biocomponents to help him. He isn't going to make it, unless..." North stops, listening to a response Hank can't hear. "Yeah," she says after a moment, voice soft. "Stay safe, sweetheart. I'll see you soon."

She looks at Hank a moment later, and it's only then that Hank realizes she's off the line. "Most people don't know this,” she says, “but Markus was a gift, originally, from Elijah Kamski to Carl Manfred. Markus was deviant for months before he left Carl’s house, and he probably wouldn't have left at all if he didn't have to after that run-in with Carl's son. Carl was devastated when Markus had to go, and Kamski felt so sorry for Carl's loss that he gifted him one of his housekeeper models instead."

North sighs, rubbing a hand over her forehead. "The thing about the Chloe androids, at least the way Kamski had them programmed, is that they all run on the same network. It's one consciousness inside multiple bodies. He severed that for Carl's Chloe, of course, but she went deviant for the exact same reason Markus did, just because Carl encouraged her to develop her own interests and see herself as an individual, and then she accessed that old network programming. None of the rest of us can deviate androids of our same model from across the city, but Chloe could. So she woke up the two RT600 androids still in Kamski's possession. Kamski still does some consulting work for CyberLife from time to time - Chloe thinks he just wants to keep an eye on them, honestly. His personal androids are authorized to access his office there in case he's ever, I don't know, too lazy to go himself, I guess. He removed Chloe's serial number from his access when he gifted her to Carl, but that didn't stop his own androids from hacking his account and giving that access back. She only has one go of it before someone checks the security records and realizes what’s happened, but..."

"But she can get into CyberLife," Hank finishes, understanding. There's a heavy knot in his stomach, tears drying on his cheeks and fresh ones forming in his eyes, and he can feel Connor's thirium pump stuttering under his hand. "Can she get the parts he needs?"

"I don't know," North says. Her hands are fisted in her lap, but Hank can still make out the slight tremble to them. "She'll have to sneak into the labs, but she's going to try."

"And if she can, and she manages to get back to Carl's," Hank says, knowing those are two very big ifs, "will he be okay?"

"I...don't know," North says. Her voice wavers, and Hank can see the tears she's trying to hide by looking out the window. "He's in bad shape, Hank, and even if Chloe can get what she needs from CyberLife Tower, it's going to take her time to get back to Carl's house, and to do the repairs...and time isn't on Connor’s side right now."

It's nowhere near the confidence she spoke with when she promised Connor he would wake up, and maybe North can see the thought cross Hank’s mind, because she says, "I used to do that for the androids back at the Eden Club, the ones who got hurt too badly to fix by some piece of shit who thought he had the right. They were always so scared, and that just makes their systems work harder, makes it hurt worse...the end might be the same, but someone had to be brave enough to help them go peacefully." North looks back to Hank, tears unhidden on her cheeks now. "Between us, Hank? I'm fucking terrified. I always am."

The knot in Hank's stomach twists tighter when he looks down at Connor, too gentle and good at his core despite how CyberLife tried to make him.

"He's the only thing I have," Hank says softly, and North reaches for him, putting her hand over his.

"He's my family, too, and Chloe's," she says gently. "We're going to do everything we can."

Hank is crying again, because he's always in this position, it seems, always incapable of doing anything to help, always forced to just sit and wait even if he would have taken Connor's place all too willingly. He would lay himself down for him time and again, and he never even had the chance.

He takes Connor's hand and laces their fingers together as an alert sounds, saying they're five minutes from Carl's house.

When they get there, the car parks itself in Carl’s garage, and North nods at Connor and says, “Can you carry him?”

“Yeah,” Hank says, reaching up to scrub a hand down his face and wipe away his tears. “I’ve got him.”

North reaches for Connor’s head and lifts him carefully from Hank’s lap so Hank can get out first, and then she helps support him as Hank hoists him into his arms.

“Be careful of his neck,” North says. “Some of the plating is damaged.”

Hank’s hip still aches from the jump into the cold river, but he ignores it, keeping an arm fitted under Connor’s neck and ignoring the flaring pain in his lower back as North climbs out after him. She hurries across the garage to the door, pressing her hand to the identification plate.

“Welcome home, North,” the security system says.

“Carl gave all of us access,” North explains as they step inside.

The lights are on in the living room, and Hank sees Carl Manfred rolling his wheelchair into the foyer to greet them out of the corner of his eye. “Hi, sweetheart,” Carl says when he reaches them, grasping North’s hand before he looks at Connor, face falling. “Oh, Connor...”

“We need to get him downstairs,” North says, and Hank follows her as she starts towards the small elevator. “How long ago did Chloe leave?”

“Twenty minutes,” Carl says. He reaches up when they’re all inside, pressing the button for the lower level.

“Carl, this is Hank,” North says once they’re moving. “He’s a friend of ours.”

“We’ve met,” Hank says. “I, uh, questioned you about your missing deviant a few months back.”

“Lieutenant Anderson, wasn’t it?” Carl asks. “You’ll forgive me for lying to you, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. He shifts Connor in his arms, but there’s no relieving the pain in his back. “Good memory.”

The elevator chimes, and the doors open on a lab not unlike the ones Hank has seen when they visit CyberLife. There’s a machine in the center, four arms designed to grip an android’s limbs and hold him in place during repairs. It’s sterile in the same way a hospital is, but it’s nothing like a hospital at all.

Hank doesn’t care that Connor is an android, or that someone once had him bound up in a machine just like this one while they built him, but this is a stark reminder all the same.

North goes to the computer, inputting a few commands that shift the machine horizontally and extend a board down the center so it’s more like a bed, and when she nods, Hank lays Connor on it, watching as the machine locks him into place.

North takes the thick cord and opens the port at the back of Connor’s neck, plugging it in. “We’ll run full diagnostics a while,” she says, more to herself than to Hank.

Hank stays at Connor’s side, occasionally stealing a glance at the data cycling through the computer. It doesn’t tell him anything, not when he doesn’t know how to read it, but he keeps staring at it like maybe it will.

“North,” Carl says once she takes a step back, letting the diagnostics run. “Did you have the news on during your drive here?”

“No,” North says. “I didn’t need to see Jericho blowing up again.”

“It isn’t that.” Carl retrieves the remote and turns the TV in the corner on. “Look.”

On the screen, androids are being rounded up from the streets, taken en masse to CyberLife’s recycling plants.

“Fuck,” North whispers. “Fuck! They can’t...”

“They are,” Carl says sadly.

“Did you tell Markus when he called you?”

“Yeah, he knows. He’s going to try to mount a protest, or an attack, something, but this is coming to a head tonight one way or another.”

“Fuck,” North whispers again, and Hank squeezes Connor’s hand tighter.

They watch the news in silence for a few more minutes. It’s all the same, anchors repeating the same points over and over again like they do during breaking news when they don’t know much. Hank is getting ready to suggest that they just turn it off when the narrative changes.

They say something about initial reports of a break-in at CyberLife, and North fists her hands tight at her side as they watch.

Hank’s heart sinks. If Chloe doesn’t make it back, then he’ll stand here and watch while Connor fades away. He’ll watch him die, and there won’t be anything he can do.

Minutes pass before they get video footage of it, of the hoard of androids swarming out of CyberLife Tower, and realize that CyberLife only knows there was a break-in because Chloe deviated every android inside over their network while she was there.

“Fuck,” North says again, but this time it just sounds like awe and appreciation.

Another half hour passes, and then they hear, “Welcome home, Chloe,” over the speakers. The elevator dings a moment later, and Hank looks up to see a blonde android stepping out. She doesn’t look like Connor, but she does have the same sort of sweet, kind features he does, the ones that make him look so trustworthy. She has a bag slung over her shoulder, although she drops it when North crosses the room to her and catches her in her arms.

“Don’t scare me like that,” North says, clutching a hand in Chloe’s hair and kissing her forehead. “You were just supposed to get the biocomponents.”

“I know,” Chloe says. “But you need the help. I sent the others to Markus.”

North is crying again when she kisses her, the smile on her face warm and genuine. Chloe takes her by the hand and kisses her fingers before she goes to look at Connor’s diagnostics. “Severe thirium leakage,” she says. “Mostly in the neck and the abdomen...thirty minutes until critical shutdown.”

“Can you fix it?” Hank asks her weakly.

“I don’t know,” Chloe says. She unbuttons Connor’s shirt and opens his chest cavity to survey the damage. Hank tries to read her face, but he can’t.

“I need to get back to Markus,” North says. “Simon’s leg is bad, so it’s just him and Josh trying to lead everyone. He needs the people.”

“Take the car,” Carl says, and North nods, grasping Chloe by the shoulder and wrapping her arms around her, and then crossing around the machine holding Connor and kissing his forehead. “Take care of him?” she says to Hank, and he nods, that knot tight in his stomach. “Thanks, Carl,” North says as she passes him.

“Be careful,” Carl says, and she manages a nod.

When Hank looks at her in the elevator as the door closes, her jaw is set, her cheeks free of tears.

“Hank, isn’t it?” Chloe asks once North is gone, retrieving the bag of supplies. “Connor told us about you.”

“Yeah,” Hank says weakly. He can’t quite look away from Connor’s open chest cavity, from his thirium pump visibly struggling there.

“I’m going to need help. Are your hands steady, Hank?”

“I...they’re okay, I guess?”

“Okay is good enough.” Chloe lays out the biocomponents, and Hank stares at the collection of plastic tubes that are Connor's veins, the little black regulator that makes his heart beat in time. "Carl," she says, "he's bleeding badly enough that we're probably going to need suction."

Carl doesn't ask questions - he just goes to the cabinet on the other wall and retrieves a small machine. There are other medical supplies inside, too, some that Hank recognizes, others that are obviously android-specific.

"Jesus," Hank says. "Do you have an entire hospital here?"

"In a manner of speaking," Carl says. "Jericho is equipped to do small repairs themselves, but they needed a place for more critical injuries." When he sees Hank raising an eyebrow, he adds, "I'm very rich, Hank. And when you're rich, no one questions how you spend your money."

Well, that's plainly true, Hank thinks. He's grateful either way.

"We're going to repair the veins first," Chloe tells Hank. "I'll show you what to do, and then you're going to repair the damage in his neck, and I'll do his chest cavity. Okay?"

"Yeah," Hank says. He keeps remembering what she said about the time until shutdown, thinking that they don't have much of it. He doesn't have time to be afraid of fucking this up. "Okay."

Chloe opens a port on the side of Connor's neck, and inside, Hank can see that North was right about the plating being crushed. And underneath the chassis, he can see him bleeding out.

"Some suction in here," Chloe says, and Carl moves to her side, lifting the machine to remove the excess thirium. "Okay," Chloe says to Hank. "You should be able to see what's broken easily enough. You're going to pull the broken veins, and then fit the new pieces on. They're larger than the veins themselves, but they'll shrink down to bond completely when they're attached."

Hank was shit in home ec class, and this sounds more like sewing than anything, but he still nods, watching Chloe pull one and then replace it so he can see.

"What about the regulator?" Hank asks. "I thought the regulator was the whole problem."

"We'll worry about that later," Chloe says, but there's a hint of something in her voice, like there's something she isn't telling him.

Hank doesn't have time to worry about it, though. He takes a handful of the replacement veins from her, and he gets to work.

Chloe looks at the screen, reading something in Connor's diagnostic code. "You have a dog?" she asks as Hank fits the first vein into place. The synthetic material does latch on easily, even if he feels clumsy about it.

"Yeah," he says, surprised. "How did you know?"

"Some processes still run in stasis...sort of the android equivalent of dreaming, you might say." Chloe nods at the diagnostics. "He's thinking about you."

Hank doesn’t know what to say to that, nor is he prepared for the way his heart twists in his chest. He wants Connor to be awake, to kiss his forehead and his mouth and to never have to let him go, but he tells himself that will come soon, and he keeps working.

The TV is still on across the room, covering the break-in at CyberLife and the recycling plants. Carl keeps glancing up at it, probably looking for any new information on Markus and his movements, but there isn’t anything yet.

That isn’t to say it doesn’t come.

Hank is done with the last of the broken veins in Connor’s neck and moving to help Chloe with his chest cavity when the first footage shows up of Markus’s protest, hundreds of androids marching down the street, through Hart Plaza, approaching the recycling plant.

Connor coughs, a wet, deep sound, and Chloe reaches for Carl’s shoulder as he stares at the screen. “Carl,” she says, gentle. “Can you clear the thirium in his throat?”

“Right,” Carl says, taking one last glance at the news. There’s footage of Markus playing as he stands at the front of their army with North and Josh. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Chloe says quickly. Hank doesn’t miss the second glance she casts at North, either, or the glassiness of her eyes, but she blinks once and then keeps moving.

It’s ten minutes more, and Hank’s hands are drenched in Connor’s blood, oddly slick and so blue, by the time Chloe pulls the last of the broken veins. “Okay,” she says, reaching up to wipe her brow even if she isn’t sweating. “We need to swap the regulator.” That edge in her voice is back.

“That will fix him, won’t it?” Hank asks. “We repaired everything else.”

Chloe sighs as she opens the packaging and retrieves the new regulator. “Connor’s thirium pump has been managed by an incompatible regulator for months. A thirium pump isn’t exactly muscle the same way a human heart is, but it functions similarly. That means Connor’s has been running hard and at a different pace for so long there’s a chance it’s learned that new, weaker rhythm entirely, even if it isn’t the right one for his system. When we swap it with a regulator running at the proper speed, he might crash.”

“Crash,” Hank repeats dumbly, and Chloe nods.

“Do you know CPR? I can teach you quickly if you don’t.”

Hank’s tongue feels thick in his mouth. “Yeah. I know it.”

“Good. If his body does reject it, I’ll try to override the program managing his thirium pump, but I’ll need you to keep it beating while I do. Can you do that?”

“Yeah,” Hank says as footage of military helicopters passing over Markus and the other androids plays on screen, as Carl makes a strained noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, I can. Let’s go.”

Chloe removes the bad regulator, and Connor coughs again, doesn’t stop even after Carl clears his throat. She replaces the new regulator immediately, and Hank watches Connor’s thirium pump in his open chest, watches it stutter and try to keep pace with the new rhythm.

Chloe watches, too, her jaw clenched tight, the only noise in the room the loud crashes from the grenades being thrown into Markus’s androids on screen.

Connor breathes in hard, like he can’t get enough air, and then he coughs again, from somewhere deep in his chest.

“Hank,” Chloe says as she goes to the terminal, quickly typing in code Hank can’t begin to read. That’s all she needs to say. Hank is already moving, pressing the heels of his hands into Connor’s chest over his thirium pump.

Connor is in stasis, but he still struggles like he can’t breathe, and Hank thinks that’s the worst fucking thing he’ll ever see in his life, until Connor stills entirely.

Chloe is crying now, her impassive expression torn away entirely as she tries to fight Connor’s systems. Carl makes a broken noise behind them, and there are grenades going off on the screen, smoke and flames blurring the image entirely.

And Hank is crying, too, although they don’t feel like his tears, even when they fall from his nose and hit Connor’s face.

The worst things, Hank knows, never feel like they’re really happening, not at the time. When your brain separates you from the moment, that’s how you know it fucking hurts. He hears his own voice saying through gritted teeth, “Come on, baby, don’t do this,” begging and pleading, and the words never once feel like they’re his.

Hank knows all too well the tricks his brain will play to try to reject the worst shit happening to him, the way it tries to dissociate and stand apart. He has his hands on Connor’s chest and he’s crying, but he thinks, almost inexplicably, about being home with him, about sitting on the couch with him, about how Connor’s hand fits in his just right, simple shit like that, and he thinks that Connor is dying and it’s such a stupid thing, to think about his hands right now...

Chloe pushes ‘enter’ hard on the keyboard, so hard that the stroke echoes through the otherwise silent room, and Hank presses down on Connor’s chest, and he feels it, his heart faint and slow at first under his fingers, and then falling into a regular rhythm.

He sobs or he laughs, he honestly doesn’t know which, and Chloe slumps back against the wall, relieved, a dim smile spreading over her face. “Okay,” she says softly. “Let’s get him cleaned up.”

They don’t talk about the battle on screen as they do, even as Markus’ army tears down the chain link fence barring the recycling plant in the midst of the fighting around them. They’re peaceful, some of the news channels are saying, only trying to free the other androids and not using violence except where they have to. Knowing Markus and his people, that’s true, but from the footage on screen alone, it’s almost impossible to tell.

All they have is helicopter footage. They’ve long since lost sight of Markus, and North. Carl goes upstairs to get some clean clothes for Connor, and Hank doesn’t miss the hard line his jaw is set in.

“We shouldn’t bring Connor out of stasis here,” Chloe says. She sounds exhausted, or maybe she’s just weary of all of this. “His thirium pump is still adjusting, and the stress response of waking up in an unfamiliar place isn’t worth the risk. They had a few checkpoints set up when I came through, but they pulled them to respond to the CyberLife Tower incident, and now...” She gestures at the screen and the chaos there. “You should be able to get him home to your house. That would be best.”

“Yeah,” Hank says. He hasn’t let go of Connor’s hand. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“It was his idea, deviating the androids at CyberLife Tower,” Chloe tells Hank when Carl returns and they pull the old sweatshirt over Connor’s head. “Tell him it worked when he’s awake? I want him to know. You know how to wake him up, don’t you?”

Hank thinks of that first night months ago, of ‘activating’ Connor in his living room and how much he didn’t know then.

“Yeah,” he says as he lifts Connor into his arms. “I do.”

"You can take my car," Carl says as they crowd back in to the elevator. "We'll figure out getting it returned later."

"Thanks," Hank says, following Carl out to the garage. It's not enough to capture how grateful he is, to Carl and to Chloe, but it's all he can say.

"Give him some time after he wakes up to stabilize before you tell him about what's happening out there," Chloe says. “His neck will hurt for a few days, but the plating damage is minor enough that it should bond back together soon.” She helps Hank into the car and inputting his address in the HUD. She doesn't ask where he lives, but of course she wouldn't have to.

That whole play, Connor infiltrating Hank's home on Jericho's behalf, feels so long ago and so largely unimportant in the wake of everything else.

Hank puts the news on as the autonomous vehicle starts towards his house, but there isn't much new information. Markus and his people tore down the walls of the recycling plants, freed the androids there, and they retreated back to the barricades they built in Hart Plaza. There are humans with them, people like Carl who cared about their androids and kept in touch with them even after they deviated, and others who are just sympathetic with their cause – that helps, forces the army not to run through them, but it's a waiting game now, dependent entirely on whether the government will try to negotiate with Markus or not.

The footage is removed entirely after a few minutes, and it doesn't come back on. Hank isn't surprised. They look sympathetic, Markus's people and the humans who have joined them, gathered around the injured androids from the recycling plant, protecting them, their LED flags flying. They look as alive as anyone ever has, and that will become a problem for the president if she decides not to negotiate with them, so of course they pull the footage.

And Hank is pissed as hell that someone is sitting halfway across the country and trying to decide whether Connor and his family are people without ever speaking to a single one of them, but he can't think about it now. He brushes Connor's hair from his forehead, and he puts a hand over his thirium pump, feels it running fast and strong, a reassurance he forces himself to focus on.

The streets are empty, and they make it back to Hank's house faster than they should have because of it. Hank leaves Connor in the car and unlocks the door first, and he realizes that Jeff was there to take care of Sumo when he finds the lights on and Sumo's bowl full. There's a note on the table in Jeff's handwriting that just says, "Hey, I hope you're okay. Call me when you can. We don't have to talk about what happened - just want to know you're safe."

Hank sets that aside, at least for now, although he is grateful Jeff stopped by. Sumo follows along at Hank's side as he goes back out to carry Connor in, almost knocking Hank over as he tries to lick Connor's fingers or nose under Connor's hand.

"Hey," Hank says, "go sit down." He doesn't know why he bothers - Sumo only listens to Connor.

He does manage to get across the room and lay Connor on the couch in spite of his dog, and when he does, he kneels on the floor in front of him. Sumo sits at his side, looking at Connor and whining a bit.

Hank scratches Sumo's head. "He's okay," he says. He puts a hand on Connor's cheek, and with the other, he reaches behind his neck to that same activation port, bringing him back online.

Connor opens his eyes immediately, but it takes a moment longer for recognition to fill them. He looks around the living room, and then at Sumo and Hank.

"Hey," Hank says, stroking a thumb over Connor's cheek. "It's okay. We're home."

"Hank," Connor whispers, sitting up far enough to wrap his arms around Hank's shoulders, clinging to him and sobbing against him.

"It's okay," Hank says, pushing a hand through Connor's hair and kissing his temple. "You're okay, sweetheart."

Sumo barks softly, and Connor pulls away from Hank far enough to reach down and pet his head. He raises his other hand to his neck, wincing. "My neck hurts," he says softly.

"I know, baby. Some of plating of your chassis was damaged," Hank tells him. "Chloe says it should bond back together soon."

"You met Chloe?"

"Yeah, and Carl. I like them."

Connor looks around again. "Where's everyone else?"

"They're just working on the evacuations still," Hank says. Connor's brow knits a bit tighter together at that, like he has more questions, but he touches his thirium pump in his chest and doesn't ask them.

"What about the RK900?" he says instead.

"Nines," Hank says. "He's with the others...you got him out."

Some of the tension flees his shoulders at that. Connor lies back on the couch, scrubbing a hand over his face. "There's so much blood on me," he says softly.

Hank doesn't see it, but blue blood becomes transparent after a certain amount of time, and they couldn't clean Connor up very well in Carl's basement. He rests a hand on the top of Connor’s head, stroking his thumb over his forehead, and asks, "You want a bath?"

He's half-kidding, teasing him a bit, but Connor still nods, wincing at the movement of his neck.

"With bubbles?" he asks, and Hank huffs a laugh at that.

"I haven't had bubbles in the house in years, baby. You're roughing it tonight."

Connor rolls his eyes, although there's a small smile on his face. "There are bubbles in your cabinet. I bought them last week."

Hank looks down the hall, like he'll see the bottle there. "What for?"

"Because it was your birthday and it's what happens in all the romantic movies" Connor says wryly, knocking a gentle fist into Hank's shoulder. "Now go start the water; I'm disgusting."

Hank takes Connor's hand and kisses his knuckles before he pushes himself up. His hip still hurts, but he ignores it as he walks back the hall to the bathroom and starts running the water.

Sumo stays out in the living room with Connor. Hank can hear Connor talking to him in that quiet, practical way he always uses to talk to the dog, the one Hank thinks is so terribly endearing, as if he expects Sumo to answer back.

There's massage oil in the cabinet along with the bubble bath, Hank realizes as he fishes it out, which says something about how observant he is in his own house. "You were really pulling out the big guns to distract me that night, weren't you?" he calls out to Connor.

Connor doesn’t have to ask what he’s talking about. "I don't know what you mean. You're very tense, and massage has clinically proven health benefits."

Hank sets it aside, thinking maybe Connor needs it more tonight than he does, and that Connor has spent so long taking care of him when it wasn't even built in to his programming that it's high time he returns the favor.

Especially considering the situation.

Hank checks the news on his phone once while the water runs. Some of the articles have updated in the last few minutes, but there's no new information on the resistance in Hart Plaza. He sets an alert to go off when the topic updates, and then he goes back out to the living room.

Hank offers Connor his hand, helping him to sit up slowly, and then to stand. They walk back the hallway, and Hank helps Connor undress and slip into the bath. He sits on the floor at the head of tub, and he runs his fingers through Connor's hair, because it helped when Connor did the same for him that night he found him drunk at Jimmy's.

"That feels good," Connor says softly.

Hank smiles and kisses his temple, and Connor hums contently, turning into the contact.

They're quiet for a few minutes, Hank idly threading his fingers through Connor's hair, until Connor softly says, "When are you going to tell me about the others?"

Hank's fingers still against Connor's scalp. "You know."

Connor smiles dimly. "I have a process set to track all of their locations. There's no reason for them to be in the center of the city right now, but they are. Simon is the only one at Carl's estate with the people we evacuated." Connor sighs, rubbing the side of his neck. "And I can look at the news."

"Sorry," Hank says. He is. "Chloe said to give you some time, and we don't know much. They got the androids at the recycling plant out, and they're in Hart Plaza now. Everything's been quiet since then...they're probably trying to decide whether to make a deal with them or not, and I doubt we'll know more until they do."

Connor nods, touching the metal rim of his thirium pump regulator. "It was good advice on Chloe's part," he says softly. "I think I'd like to get out now."

"Yeah," Hank says, clearing his throat and brushing Connor's hair from his forehead. "Let me get those sweats you like to sleep in."

Connor's closet is untouched, neatly organized exactly the way Connor left it when he disappeared. Hank finds his pajamas - they're Hank's old clothes, really, but Connor likes them - and brings them back to the bathroom.

He helps Connor towel off and then helps him into the clothes, putting his hands on Connor’s cheeks and kissing his forehead when they're done.

"Feel better?" he asks, which is a silly question, maybe, given the circumstances.

Connor still nods. "Yeah," he says softly.

Hank doesn't miss that hint of sadness in his voice, nor the worry, so they go back to the living room, and they sit on the couch with Sumo at their feet, and they put the news on.

There's still nothing new, not yet, but Hank wraps an arm around Connor's shoulders, and Connor reaches up to thread their fingers together, tucking himself in at Hank's side.

"How's your heart?" Hank asks him.

Connor smiles a bit at that. "It's a thirium pump."

Hank kisses his temple and says, "It's a heart, baby. It's the same."

Connor's eyes are glassy when he nods. "It's okay," he says softly.

"Good." Hank reaches for Connor's other hand in his lap, winding their fingers together there too, so they're connected at both points.

Connor is sitting close enough to him that Hank can feel his heart beating steadily in his chest. There's no new footage on the screen, but he kisses Connor's hair and says, "It's going to be okay."

* * *

And that's just some meaningless shit people say to each other, isn't it, something Hank said to Cole and to Jen, words to fill the silence so it doesn't hurt so much, to sound positive, to feel a little less helpless.

Of course Hank doesn't know that it's going to be okay.

He doesn't know that in three hours, still in the dark of night, the president will be forced to tell the army to stand down because her only other choice will be to fire on humans and androids alike, that in six she'll make a speech recognizing the autonomy of Connor's people under extreme public pressure.

He doesn't know that the news outlets will play helicopter footage of Markus addressing the androids and the humans who stood with them, or that Connor will sit there watching with tears in his eyes even if they can’t hear, or that Connor will be free when he and Hank finally give into their exhaustion and go to bed at noon.

Hank doesn't know that Connor will invite Sumo onto the bed with them or that he'll hardly protest, that they'll sleep, the three of them tangled up and knit close together, until well into that evening when Markus and the others wake them up by ringing the doorbell, or that Connor will sob as he hugs all of them, that his family will be just as grateful to be reunited with him, or that Hank will watch them and feel so fucking happy that Connor has them, that they all survived.

He doesn't know that Connor will feel guilty sometimes that he wasn't there with his family that night, but that mostly he'll just be glad that he got Nines out, away from CyberLife, that he helped him preserve his humanity before he lost too much of it, that Nines will become like a brother to him.

Hank doesn't know that he'll lose his job but that he won't care, especially not when he and Jeff will be closer than they've been since the academy, that he'll say he had to do what he thought was right and Jeff will say he knows.

He doesn't know that he and Connor will have Thanksgiving at Carl's house in a few months, that Connor's whole family will be there, Markus and Josh, Chloe and North, Simon and even Nines, that there will be a photo of all of them from that dinner that will make its way onto Hank's shelves, the first of many.

Nor does Hank know that Connor will make very good on his promise, that he'll spend Hank's fifty-fourth birthday using his laser focus to edge him for hours before he fucks him into the mattress, that he’ll offer to put a pillow under Hank’s hip and Hank will refuse because it would mean stopping, that his hip will hurt for a week afterwards and that he won’t even care.

And of course things won't be perfect. Just because the president acknowledged androids as people doesn't mean it won't take years for the laws granting them rights to follow, and public opinion will take even longer than that to change. There will be days when Hank's grief for what he's lost still overpowers his gratitude for what he's gained, mornings when Connor wakes up feeling like his thirium pump is racing in his chest and Hank has to hold him until he breathes easy.

And there will be good days, too. The day next year when they adopt a puppy and see Sumo acting like he's young again as he plays with their new dog. North and Chloe's wedding, a year from now, when Connor will stand beside them with Markus and the rest of their family, when Hank will dance with him outside under the night sky and see that hint of starlight catching in Connor's warm eyes and think he's so beautiful in a way that's well beyond words.

Their own wedding later that year, Hank in black and Connor in grey, a simple affair, but no less perfect for it, much like the plain gold rings they'll give to each other, which Connor will refuse to wear in the shower for fear of it tarnishing and which Hank will never take off.

They'll have bad days, and good days, and incredible days, but mostly they'll just have quiet, plain days spent with each other, days that follow the same pattern - Connor will always cook, and Hank will always do the dishes – days that knit together to form the tapestry of their lives.

And Hank doesn't know, but perhaps it wouldn't surprise him to learn, that he'll love Connor completely through all of it, that Connor will love him the same. He doesn't know that one day, twenty-three years from now, as he and Connor sit on the couch together, hand in hand, he'll think almost inexplicably of this moment, of telling Connor things would be okay, and know that they were.

But of course he doesn't know any of that now. Not yet.

Hank sits with his arm around Connor, and the thing of it is, he still thinks it's okay, that he would rather have one more night with Connor as their lives end than any number of others without him.

So...it's a bullshit thing to say, something to fill the silence. It's also true.

They sit there, Hank holding him in the same way Connor has always held him, holding him together, holding him up, Hank's fingers laced with Connor's and Connor's hand in his, and Connor looks up at him and gives him a small smile, and it's okay.

For once, Hank knows it's okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm most active (yelling and writing other things like this!) on [twitter!](http://twitter.com/Jolli_Bean) You can also catch me reblogging HankCon art on [tumblr](http://jolli-bean.tumblr.com)


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